40 Weeks
by the local knicker merchant
Summary: It's Valentine's Day 2011 and Carla has retreated to lick her wounds after the tongue lashing she received from Peter at his and Leanne's disastrous wedding blessing...what happens next...
1. Week 1: Valentine

**Week 1: Valentine's Day**

Carla twirled the straw absently around the double vodka and tonic sat before her on the bar. With the bistro still closed after the tram crash and way too many judgemental stares waiting for her at the Rovers, she'd opted for a downtown bar, a bar where no one knew her name and, even if someone she knew did walk through the door, the lighting was so dim they would be hard pressed to see her.

Here she was, another Valentine's Day alone. Drinking alone. She could cope with the loneliness; she'd done it plenty of times in the past, even when she had been in a relationship, she had often felt lonely. But this year, this year was different. Heartbreaking, humiliating, soul-destroying. She remembered his words, so public an assault, as if every utterance that came out of his mouth was like the strike of a dagger straight through her heart.

"_I've been no angel. I've spent a lifetime fighting my genes. But I won that fight. I would've been faithful. Isn't that right, Carla? Yeah. Leanne's best mate there. Cracking looking bird, I think you'll all agree. But a lot like my best man it transpires. You see, while me and this tart were planning our wedding, Carla was doing her damndest to get me into bed. Told me she loved me, no less. Loved me! In fact, she loved me so much that, when she found out about these two, she kept quiet and all. Secretly hoping I'd twig it myself and come running to her. As you can see, Carla, I'm not running anywhere."_

She couldn't listen anymore; she had rushed out of the church, all eyes following her as she walked down that aisle, not as a bride, like Leanne had done only moments before, but as the shamed scarlet woman, fleeing the scene of her humiliation to hang her head in shame and ignominy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man slide onto the barstool next to her, his mouth already half-open, a cheesy compliment on the tip of his tongue. But, before he could get any words out, an offer to buy her a drink, she shut him down.

"Not tonight, sweetheart."

The stranger knew it was a hopeless case; he quickly moved on, leaving Carla once again alone with her regrets.

* * *

"_Don't you touch me! Haven't you done enough damage? This is all your fault."_

Leanne's words still rung in his ears, hours after they had left her lips as they stood tensely at the front of the church in the ashes of the disastrous blessing ceremony. He remembered the look on her face, contorted with anger, shame, and hate. She really looked like she hated him. But he refused to believe it. She couldn't hate him. They were in love. Her and Peter, that wasn't going to last. She was only with him because of Simon, because of a sense of duty. It was him that she truly loved. She would see that eventually.

Janice's tirade against him had been more scathing. "God knows what she's done to be cursed with you," she had screeched at him as he sought sanctuary in his mother's living room. "You may ponce around in your fancy suits and drive a flash motor, but you cannot get away from the smell of what you are. Scum! Always have been, always will be. I would lay you out, sunshine, but you're not worth grazing me knuckles for." His former mother-in-law's eyes looked like they would bulge right out of her skull as she leaned in close to him, incandescent with rage, the spit from her mouth spraying on his cheek as she ranted at him.

Janice's anger couldn't touch him, however; he didn't care about her or what she thought about him. He could have taken any amount of hate if only Leanne had agreed to come away with him. To run away to Milan and start a new life. Just the two of them. But she had chosen to stay and fight for a marriage to a man who had just publicly humiliated her. She had chosen that man, that petty and vindictive man, over him. Why? He didn't understand.

With a sigh, Nick pushed open the door and entered the dimly lit bar, his eyes sweeping across the room and to the u-shaped bar that dominated the space.

That was when he saw her.

Her raven hair was swept at an angle across her forehead and her cheek, hiding the corner of her eye, adding to the mystery that surrounded her, and tied low on her neck over her left shoulder. A red rose was pinned to her stylish grey wool wrap that was flecked with shades of red and purple that covered her customary black leggings. He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, from her perfectly made-up face, despite the anguish that was clearly written on it for all to see, all the way down to her knee-high black leather boots. He couldn't help but enjoy what he saw.

"Drowning your sorrows?" He leaned casually against the bar next to Carla, gazing down on her with interest.

"What's it to you?" Carla glanced up at him with a scowl.

"Well, you know what they say," he couldn't help but smirk at the open hostility in her eyes. "Misery loves company."

"And you certainly are miserable, aren't you?"

"So…?" his eyebrow raised with inquiry.

"Sit down," Carla commanded, raising her drink to her lips and draining the contents in one long sip, before placing the empty glass back down on the bar. "Mine's a double voddy and tonic."

* * *

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Nick asked, peering at Carla, so close to him, yet now with features beginning to get a little bit fuzzy as the alcohol spread throughout his system.

"As long as it's not 'why did you do it?'" Carla replied.

"It's not," Nick said, suddenly serious. "Do you think I ponce around?"

"You? Ponce around?" Carla looked Nick up and down before flashing him a cheeky smile. "Yeah, I do. Big time."

"Oh, thanks very much."

"You did ask," she shrugged off his protest.

"I know, my own fault."

"Why?" Carla asked. "Why did you ask?"

"Janice," Nick revealed with a grimace. "Had a go at me before."

"Ah, then I think you got off quite lightly with 'ponce around'."

"She said I was scum."

"Well, you are."

"Whoa!" Nick held his hands up in the air, as if in silent surrender against her unprovoked attack. "Hang on a minute!"

"No, Nick," Carla pushed back, not willing to retreat. "What you did, giving Peter booze, enabling him, that was way over the line."

"Was it worse that what you did?"

"Yes. A million times worse and you know it."

"I'm not proud of myself," Nick confessed. "But I was so focused on what _I_ wanted, so blinkered that everything else, the people that would get hurt, the lives destroyed, it didn't matter. As long as I got what I wanted."

"She's not worth it, you know."

"Don't." His tone held a dangerous warning; despite her rejection of him, he would never stand to hear a bad word said about her. "At the risk of getting my head bitten off," Nick broke the silence that had momentarily descended over the unlikely pair. "Why did you do it? Try to seduce Peter I mean?"

"I dunno," Carla shook her head sadly. "It was so many things. Things that built up over such a long time. Everything that had happened…"

"You mean with Tony?"

"Tony, Liam, Paul, all of it." Carla tried to blink away the tears that welled in her eyes at the thought of the relentless tragedies that had seemed to curse her life ever since she had first stepped onto Coronation Street, but ultimately failed; a solitary tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. "It all got too much and I… I'm not ashamed to admit it, I fell apart. Completely. Which is when I started drinking. A lot. And Peter was there for me. He understood me. I got attached. Too attached."

"You mistook his help, his compassion, for love?"

"No," Carla shook her head vehemently. "It was love. It is… It's in the past. I know that. But don't say it wasn't love."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Listen, can we not talk about Peter and Leanne anymore," Carla pleaded. "I'm so sick of talking about them, of thinking about them."

"Sure," Nick agreed. "What do you wanna talk about?"

"Anything," Carla said. "Talk to me about the weather, about the price of milk, I don't care."

"Okay," Nick smiled at her indulgently. "Let's talk about business, that's your thing, isn't it?"

"Ruthless businesswoman, that's me."

"So, how is business?"

"Are we really doing this?"

"You wanted to change the subject," Nick shrugged. "So, come on, tell me about Underworld."

"Well, it's a tough market out there," Carla began hesitantly. "Everyone's feeling the pinch."

"But you've got enough work to keep you going?"

"Honestly, if we don't get this contract with Frank Foster... that could be it for Underworld."

"Frank Foster?"

"Did you never come across him?" When Nick merely shook his head, Carla went on. "Let's just say that an order from him would keep us going for the rest of the year."

"I'm sure you can charm him into signing," Nick said. "You always had a certain je ne sais quoi with clients of the male variety."

"We'll see," Carla mused. "So, what about you? How's the rebuild coming along?"

"Slowly," Nick said with a weary sigh. "I sometimes think I should get out, cut my losses. That place has given me nothing but grief."

"That's not true," Carla objected. "You've done a fantastic job with that place, you're a natural."

"Thanks," he smiled at her gratefully. "You know, sometimes I actually get nostalgic for the rag trade."

"Ooh," Carla grimaced. "Things must be bad if you're hankering to get back into knickers. Don't you remember what it was like?"

"I remember we made a great team."

"Oh, come on, Nick. Admit it, you wanted to throttle me most of the time."

"I didn't, I… okay, maybe once or twice you did get on my nerves," Nick confessed with a smile. "But I always respected you as a businesswoman."

"As long as we don't have to work together, right?"

"I also remember the first time I ever saw you. You didn't see me," he recounted with a nostalgic smile. "You were going into the factory one morning. I was arriving back at my mum's after a run. And I saw you getting out of your Merc, with your heels and your hair and I was just… wow!"

"Did you…?"

"Of course I did," Nick assured her. "I mean, have you ever looked in a mirror? You're beyond gorgeous." He smiled as he watched her lower her gaze, a flush creeping over her cheeks. "What did you think of me when you first met me?" he asked, suddenly nervous about her reply. "That day I first came into your office."

"I thought you were arrogant."

"That's a fair cop, I guess." He couldn't help but be disappointed, failing to keep his emotion from showing on his face; this time it was his turn to drop his gaze, unable to meet hers.

"Hey," Carla nudged his knee gently with hers. "I meant that as a compliment."

He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, searching for the meaning behind her words.

"You like arrogant men, do you?"

"As long as they've got summat to back up their arrogance."

"Do I…?" The words almost caught in his throat.

"Well, you are smart… and conniving, which I like by the way. You know what you want and you go after it unapologetically with determination. And passion. You might get it wrong, sure, but you don't do things by halves."

"There's no point in doing something half-heartedly, is there?"

Carla shook her head, her gaze fixed on Nick's, their bodies subconsciously moving closer to each other, their feet bridging the gap, hers resting on the footrest of his bar stool, his on hers, her knees slightly apart as his leg filled the gap between hers.

"You know what else?" her voice came in a hoarse whisper.

"What?"

"Despite being an offspring of Gail Platt, you are…"

"Tell me."

"Very attractive."

* * *

Before the hotel room door had fully swung shut, Carla was in Nick's arms, her hands either side of his face, pulling him towards her, kissing him, as they stepped as if occupying the one body, towards the bed.

Wasting no time, Carla tugged on Nick's shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked firmly into the waistband of his trousers. She pulled it free and, almost ripping the buttons off in her haste, tore open the shirt to reveal his well-toned physique. She couldn't help but smile as she gazed upon his chest; it was obvious that he worked out, that he took pride in his appearance. She reached out and, placing her hands gently on his chest, kissed his neck softly, then up and along his jawline, she left a trail of little kisses, finishing with a little suck on his earlobe, her tongue sweeping across his skin.

Meanwhile, Nick's hands had been busy, roaming freely over Carla's back, reaching underneath her top, gliding over her smooth, warm skin, and expertly unclasping her bra.

Carla pulled away from Nick ever so slightly, just enough so that Nick could, in one smooth motion, push her top, bra and all, up her body and over her head, tossing the whole lot over his head, scattering her garments over the floor.

He stood for a moment and stared at her breasts, at the soft yet pert mounds that jiggled and swayed slightly as she moved, at the small blush pink nipple that crowned each breast. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body close to his, her breasts close to his face, her nipples into his mouth.

As he teased her nipples, arousing them so they became hard and erect, like little pink pebbles, Carla allowed her head to fall back, her gaze skyward, as her fingers raked through his hair, a soft moan escaping her lips as he tweaked her nipples gently between his teeth.

A surprised gasp escaped her lips when, without warning, Nick gripped her tightly by the waist and swung her over and onto the bed so she was lying on her back and looking up at him.

Holding her gaze, he slowly unzipped her boots, one by one, and pulled them off, tossing them onto the floor. He momentarily regretted losing the boots; the thought of Carla wearing nothing but knee-high boots as he fucked her was very appealing. The appeal was so great in fact, it was causing the pressure to build in his boxers as he felt his penis swell within its fabric prison.

He had no choice but to abandon the boots; they were the only way he could rid her body of those leggings, the only way his path to her vagina would be clear. With a grin, he reached up to the waist of her leggings and slowly pulled them down, with a little help from her as she raised her arse off the bed, over her hips and down her legs, allowing his fingers to glide over her skin as it went.

Soon enough, Carla's leggings were on the floor with the rest of her clothing, and she was lying in front of him, naked.

He'd often wondered what she would look like naked, the natural curiosity of a red-blooded man day dreaming about a stunningly attractive woman. But seeing her nakedness right before his eyes, not just for him to gaze on, but to touch, to experience, was more than he had ever imagined. More beautiful, more sensual, more intoxicating.

Carla stared up at Nick and, despite her intoxicated state, couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn her Valentine's Day had taken. A few hours ago, all she had wanted was to drink her cares away; alone, by herself. The thought of conversation held no allure for her, not tonight. But with Nick, the conversation had come easily. Perhaps because they were in the same position. Two rejected people finding solace in each other. What could be more natural?

She grinned with anticipation as she watched Nick unfasten his trousers and join her in the pure state of nakedness. She allowed her gaze to travel down his body to his penis that was standing, ready and erect, throbbing with desire for a woman who, until that evening, he had never imagined he would ever be with, not like this.

Raising her upper body slightly off the bed, she reached for him, intertwining her fingers behind his head and pulling him down onto her, her legs instinctively parting as his body fitted into her curves, as if his body was created especially for hers.

And so, this improbable duo, for right or wrong, for better or worse, spent their first night together; a night that would change the course of, not only their own lives, but the lives of the couple that had rejected them, forever.


	2. Week 2: Benefits

**Week 2: Benefits**

Carla speared a grilled mushroom onto the end of her fork that was already packed with crispy fried bacon, sausage, and a hunk of scrambled egg. She shoved it into her mouth with a sigh, chewing the food indulgently, savouring every last morsel as she swallowed it down. Unusually ravenous, she had abandoned her usuals rations of cereal with skim milk at home and made her way into Roy's Rolls for breakfast.

She glanced up as the café door opened and a familiar figure entered. She had done this on instinct every time the door had opened, but this was the first time the new arrival had made any impact on her.

She instinctively shrunk down into her seat, a vain attempt to hide from view, holding up the menu in front of her face, desperate to avoid him seeing her. She'd successfully managed it up until now, ducking behind a building whenever she saw him on the street, or loitering behind the front door of the factory if she spied him entering or exiting his mum's house.

It wasn't like Carla to shrink away from seeing or being seen by anyone, no matter what had happened, but the hazy memory of that night, the knowledge of what they had done together, even now, a week later, still made her cringe.

* * *

Carla's head pounded with that old familiar feeling of the morning after. Her throat was dry, her lips plastered together with a dehydrated film that tasted like soured alcohol, and her eyelids were rough and heavy, like sandpaper scratching her eyeballs as they fluttered spasmodically into wakefulness.

Water. She needed water.

She attempted to rise from the bed, but was held back, trapped by a strong arm that was draped over her waist, its hand resting on the bed, its fingers cupped around her bare breast.

She desperately searched her memory, struggling to remember how she had ended up in this hotel room, in this bed with– who exactly was she in bed with? Moving ever so gently, petrified that any sudden movements would wake her as yet unknown bedfellow, Carla peered over her shoulder and saw him: Nick Tilsley.

Slowly, the events of the previous evening started trickling back into her mind, a mind still befuddled with the copious quantities of booze she'd imbibed during those hours she had spent propping up the bar.

Now that she had remembered, she was determined to escape before Nick awoke and, more importantly, before she was forced to enter what would surely be one of the most awkward conversations of her life.

So, with the lightest of touches so as not to rouse her sleeping lover, Carla gingerly picked up Nick's hand and raised it into the air, preparing to scoot her body out underneath his arm and to relative safety. But instinct prompted him to wrap his arm even tighter around her, his fingers closing in around one of her breasts, massaging the soft mound, his fingers lightly tweaking her nipples.

"Lea," Nick murmured softly in his half-conscious state, pressing his face into her hair and softly kissing her neck.

"Not Leanne," Carla informed him, her voice cutting through the air like a knife, brutally severing Nick's tender connection with his dream lover, and forcing him to wake up to the harsh reality of his current predicament as he recognised the voice of the woman whose naked body he was currently cradling in his arms.

"Carla."

"The one and same."

For a moment neither of them spoke, each coming to terms in their own way with what had happened the previous night.

"Did we…?" Nick asked.

"What do you think?" Carla asked sarcastically. "Talking of which…"

"What?"

"Do you mind removing your hand from my breast?"

"Sorry," Nick said, pulling his hand away.

But still they lay there, their bodies close together, skin against skin, Nick's groin pressed into Carla's lower back. Carla couldn't help but feel curious; with little memory of having had sex with Nick the night before, she wondered how it had felt. As for Nick, he was quietly enjoying himself as he ever so gently moved his penis against Carla's back, up and down.

"Okay, you need to stop doing that."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he whispered into her ear, his breath coming in short pants as his excitement grew. Sure, he wasn't waking up to the woman he'd been dreaming of, but he couldn't deny Carla's beauty, her sexiness, the desire that coursed through his body when he saw her body. So, if there was even the slightest chance that he and Carla could have some fun, he wasn't about to throw it away.

Carla wasn't sure; but still, she arched her back, pressing her arse into Nick's pelvis, forcing his penis to graze the skin between her cheeks, the friction it created causing him to moan with pleasure as his arousal grew.

Carla was on the verge of abandoning herself to those few hours of carnal pleasure that Nick was offering her when thoughts of another man, a man so completely different to the one who was on the verge of entering her, came flooding into her mind. They were unbidden but powerful thoughts. Thoughts that refused to leave or be tamed. Thoughts that told her it should be Peter doing these things to her, touching her so softly, so gently, making her feel like this. It was Peter that she wanted. She didn't want Nick.

"No!" Carla almost shouted her protest, wrenching her body away from him and rising into a seated position. "This is wrong."

"Wrong?" Nick also rose to sit in front of Carla. "What's wrong about it?

"It just is."

Carla swung her legs over the side of the bed and, standing up, began to collect her various articles of clothing that had the previous night been discarded across the room during their frenzy of booze-induced passion.

Nick couldn't pretend to himself that he wasn't disappointed. In that moment, he wanted her; physically he wanted to be with her, to satisfy that immediate desire that consumed every fibre of his being.

What did it matter if, when he closed his eyes, he imagined it was Leanne he was making love to? Carla was most likely pretending that he was Peter.

But he was forced to satisfy himself with watching her as she dressed in front of him. He felt his penis stiffen as he watched her pull on her lacy thong; with a sharp intake of breath, he marvelled at the sight of her hair tumbling forward over her face as she bent down to scoop her bra off the floor.

Carla glanced up at Nick as she pulled on first her leggings and then her top. Rather than join her in getting dressed, he had remained on the bed, reclining back against the pillows, naked, watching her, clearly enjoying the show if the state of his penis was anything to go by.

"Can I ask you a question?" Carla asked as she perched on the edge of the armchair and slipped on her boots.

"Sure."

"Did we have a good time?" she asked, a grin playing on the corners of her mouth. "You know… last night."

"Are you asking me to evaluate your performance?"

"No," Carla protested with faux indignation. "Don't worry, Nick, I've got no doubts about my abilities in that regard."

"So it's my performance you're questioning, is it?"

"I'm curious is all."

"Why don't you come back to bed and find out for yourself?"

Carla stared at him, saw the cheeky glint in his eye and allowed her gaze to travel down his body, lingering first on his toned torso, and then, a little bit lower, on his penis.

"No," Carla shook her head decisively as she fastened her grey wrap around her shoulders. "I should… get to the factory."

She stared at him for a moment, studied the look in his eyes, a look that clearly spoke of his unsated desire for her. Should she? What harm would it do to crawl back into bed and– No! She hurried from the room before her resolve weakened.

* * *

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Carla couldn't hide any longer. She looked up at Nick standing behind the chair opposite her, a questioning look on his face.

"Sure." What else could she say?

She watched uneasily as he pulled the chair from underneath the table and sat down on it, returning her gaze confidently.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Did you hear Peter and Leanne sorted things out?"

"Yeah," Carla sighed. "I heard."

"They've gone on their honeymoon."

"Right." Carla wished he'd shut up about Peter and Leanne.

"How do you feel about that?" Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and peered at Carla, anxious to hear her answer.

"I dunno," Carla shrugged. "What can you do but accept things and move on. He's made his choice. And so has she. Now they have to live with it."

"So do you, don't forget," Nick said. "And me."

"But we've got a choice, Nick. To keep on being obsessed and unhappy or to focus on other things. Get them out of our system."

"Maybe," Nick mused on her words in silence for a moment when suddenly he glanced up at her and noticed the intensity with which she was studying his face. "I haven't seen you around since… you know."

"Yeah well, I've been busy, haven't I? It's not easy running that factory single-handed."

"I thought maybe you were avoiding me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "You might've been embarrassed. But there's no need, I mean, you performed just fine."

"Fine!" Carla exclaimed. "I was more than fine!"

Nick laughed at the indignation on Carla's face. "You were," he said sincerely. "And then some."

"We're agreed then," Carla said as the heat slowly rose to her cheeks at the memory of Valentine's Day night, hazy as it was, along with the more lucid recollections of them lying in bed the next morning, the feeling of Nick's penis pressed against her arse and his fingers massaging her breasts. "We'll just, umm… forget the other night happened, yeah?"

"Sure, whatever you want," Nick said casually. "Although…"

"What?"

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like? You and Me? In bed… sober, so we could, you know, actually remember it?"

"No."

"Really?" he grinned at her. "Because I have. I've thought about it quite a lot this past week."

Carla looked at him curiously; what was he playing at? The way he was looking at her…

"Stop it!" she ordered, the corners of her mouth twitching into an almost smile.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that!"

"Sorry."

But he wasn't sorry; and he didn't stop. Ever since that drunken night in the hotel, he'd thought about Carla, about what it had felt like running his fingers along her naked body, the feeling of her tongue pressing into his mouth, her legs wrapped around his body as he–

"Come on then," Carla commanded as she rose to her feet.

"Where are we going?"

"My place," she said matter-of-fact. "Well, we can't exactly go back to your mums, can we?"

* * *

Nick rolled onto his back next to Carla, their breaths coming in heavy pants as they both came down from their orgasmic high, their bodies covered with a thin layer of sweat after their exertions.

Reaching across to the bedside table, Nick yanked a handful of tissues from the box that sat there and handed them to Carla.

"Thanks," Carla gratefully accepted the tissues and cleaned up the sticky mess Nick had left between her thighs. Tossing the soiled tissues into the bin, she took a sip of water from the bottle to hand before passing it on to Nick, as a companionable silence descended over the pair.

"Well?" he asked, turning to lie on his side facing her, his fingers running along the curves of her waist and down over her hips. "How was it? You know, doing it sober?"

"Not bad."

"Does that mean… there's a possibility you might wanna do this again?"

Carla turned to face Nick, mirroring his pose, so that their faces were once again close, the heat from their bodies intensifying.

"How d'ya mean?"

"Wh-what? I don't…"

"I mean in what capacity would we be doing this?"

"Oh, I dunno, like a friends with benefits type thing?"

"Except we're not friends," Carla pointed out with a grin. "That would presume that I liked you."

"I guess we could call it… 'with benefits'? Drop the friends." Nick tabled his indecent proposal. "So, what d'ya think?"

"This is crazy," Carla shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, you and me. A week ago, just the thought of seeing you naked would've had me running for the hills."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

"I'm not saying I was disappointed when I did."

"That's something, I guess."

"It's just… this is all very unexpected."

"The question is, is it unenjoyable?"

Carla searched Nick's eyes; there was a pleading there, of course there was, he was suggesting regular strings-free sex after all, what man wouldn't beg for that, but there was also an arrogance, an expectation that she will want him, that Carla couldn't help but appreciate.

"No," she said with a grin. "The opposite in fact."

"So? Do we have a deal?"

Carla didn't answer with words, she simply kissed him. That was all he needed to know.


	3. Week 3: Secrets and lies

**Week 3: Secrets and lies**

Carla teetered down the cobbles, the perils of falling flat on her face always an ever-present danger when she wore her sky-high stilettos. But she refused to give them up; no, fashion won out every time, there was no contest.

But her footwear was the least of her problems during her walk that day; another distraction, much more pressing, was weighing on her mind. It consumed her so entirely that she didn't notice a taxi pull up outside the front door of the bookies flat; she didn't notice the man she had proclaimed to love step out of the taxi with his not-so-new bride, fresh from their honeymoon. She didn't see him, not until that moment she walked straight into him, almost dropping the bag she was carrying.

"Sorry, I didn't see…" Carla's voice trailed off when she recognised Peter's face staring back at her with concern.

"S'okay," he reassured her. "You alright?"

"Fine," she shot back, unsure if she was telling the truth or not. She wouldn't know for sure, not until… not until she knew. "Have a good time then?"

"Umm…" Peter wasn't sure how to answer, not after everything that had happened at the blessing, not after the way he had verbally attacked Carla. "Yeah, we did."

"Peter," Leanne called out to her husband from the threshold of their home. She didn't need to say anymore; both Peter and Carla understood what that one single word meant. It was a warning to both of them; to stay away from each other.

"I should go," Peter murmured.

"Okay," Carla shrugged. "Bye then."

"Look," Peter hurried to add in a low voice. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Carla stared into Peter's eyes for what felt like an eternity, but was in reality only a few seconds, searching them for the meaning behind his words. Most likely they meant exactly that; he was sorry for what he'd said, but Carla couldn't help but hope for more.

"It's fine," she said, shaking off any expectations she had of him. Her and Peter were over, done with. Not that they'd ever started, not really. "You better get in before Leanne sends out a search party."

"Bye," Peter whispered to as he turned and walked slowly towards the door.

Carla watched him walk away from her, like he'd done so many times in the past.

_Beep beep_

An incoming text message.

_Nick: you free tonight?_

Peter watched from his front door as Carla stared at the mobile phone in her hand; he watched as a frown furrowed her brow, as she sniffed and, shaking her head gently, placed the phone into her bag. Without a backwards glance, she hurried down the street and away from him.

His eyes remained transfixed on her until that final moment when she disappeared from view around the corner of the building. With a sigh, he closed the front door and began to climb the stairs, a sudden and overwhelming weariness causing his legs to drag as he raised them one by one, step by step, bringing him closer and closer to home.

He wasn't the only one that had been watching Carla; Leanne stood at the window, peering down at her former friend, her love rival, whether that was former or not she couldn't tell. All she could do was determine to keep her and Peter apart at all costs. That woman was not going to steal her husband. She would fight until her last breath to stop that from happening.

* * *

"I'm going out for a fag, love."

"Don't be long," Leanne called out to Peter as he hurried out of the bookies. "There's a race on at Lingfield in half an hour."

"I won't," Peter promised her as he slipped through the open door of the bookies and slumped against the wall outside, quickly lighting his cigarette and sucking on it, desperately inhaling the smoke into his lungs. He breathed out with a sigh, leaning his head back against the brickwork and closing his eyes, revelling in these rare few moments of peace and quiet.

It was true, his and Leanne's honeymoon had been relaxing, romantic even, an escape from the everyday that, if he were honest, had saved their marriage. But beneath it all, all the smiles and the kisses, there was an undercurrent that injected everything that was sweet with a tinge of bitterness.

The truth was, there was no trust. He didn't trust her and, despite _her_ deception and _her_ affair, her mistrust of him was even greater. This stung the most for him; he had been faithful, he had rejected the advances of a woman he cared for more than he had ever admitted to anyone, not even himself, for the sake of a woman who didn't think twice about betraying him. But somehow, he was the one at fault. He shook his head at the injustice of it all.

Glancing around at his familiar surroundings, the street that had been his family's home for generations, the buildings that held so many memories, both good and bad, his home now for better or worse.

Then he saw her; she was sitting on the bench outside Audrey's salon, a lone figure, physically now as well as spiritually. She had always seemed to him a loner, someone who relied only on themselves; independent, strong. But he knew from experience that, underneath that tough exterior, was an extremely fragile, extremely vulnerable woman; a woman who had been kicked again and again by life, by people who were meant to care for her. He berated himself for becoming one of those people; he should've taken more care.

He knew he shouldn't do it, that he should finish his cigarette and go back inside the bookies shop to where his wife was waiting for him. But an undeniable force drew him to her; he found his feet moving, one in front of the other, walking towards her.

As he quietly approached her, he could see clearly for the first time the sadness etched on her face, the worry that furrowed her brow. He needed to make it right.

"I'm not worth it, you know," he spoke softly as he dropped into place next to Carla on the bench.

"The size of your ego," Carla scoffed. "This has got nothing to do with you, okay. So just… get stuffed."

"Hey!" Peter was put out. "There's no need for that. I thought we were friends?"

"Friends?" Carla sneered, struggling to contain her laughter as she turned to look him in the eye for the first time. "Does Leanne know you're out here talking to me?"

"I, ahh…"

"Thought so," Carla said with a sardonic smile. "Friends don't have to sneak around behind their partner's back to see each other, do they? So no, Peter, we are not friends."

With a sigh, Carla ran her fingers through her hair, raking it either side of her head, exposing for a fleeting moment the small box that was laying in her lap.

"What's that?" Peter asked as he reached out to pick up the box. "Is this…?"

"Hey!" Carla snatched it back from him. "What are you playing at, Peter?"

"Is that a…?"

"It's nothing," Carla cried. "It's none of your business."

"Are you pregnant?"

Carla didn't respond, she merely closed her eyes.

"Carla?" Peter hoarsely whispered her name. "Tell me, was that test positive?"

Carla dropped her head down, eyes closed, her chin resting against her chest. She shook her head almost imperceptibly from side to side as if this simple denial would make it so in reality.

"Carla?" Peter repeated her name as he reached out and gently placed his hand on top of hers.

"You can't tell anyone," Carla insisted as she turned to face Peter, a silent plea in her eyes. "Promise me, Peter, you can't breathe a word of this, not even to Leanne."

"I can't lie to her, Carla."

"It's not lying, it's just…" Carla trailed off. "Besides, it's none of her business. Peter, please."

"I won't say anything," Peter promised her. How could he deny her when she was looking at him like that. "Who is it?" he asked. "The father I mean."

"Doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" Peter asked incredulously. "Of course it matters, Carla. This is your baby's father, he's –"

"Peter, will you shut up," Carla exclaimed, her patience wearing thin. "Can you please just let me get my head around this first."

"But –"

"I mean it, Peter," Carla's voice was harsh, she was not messing around.

"Okay," Peter said, leaning back against the seat in surrender. "Ugh! What does he want?"

"Who?"

"Nicky boy," Peter said with a grimace, nodding to the other side of the street. "You know, I wish he'd packed up and moved to Milan like he was planning. I don't know what he's sticking around… for… Carla?"

"What?"

Peter looked at Carla then across to Nick. Nick was looking, not at Peter, but at Carla. Carla was looking at Nick. As Peter glanced back at Nick, the younger man finally looked away and hurried out of sight.

"Oh no…" Peter gasped, the horror in his voice evident. "Oh, Carla, don't tell me… Not Nick. Anyone but Nick."

Carla tried to laugh off Peter's accusation.

"What a ridiculous suggestion. Come on, Peter, me and Nick? Ha!"

"I saw the way he was looking at you," Peter said. "And the way you were looking at him. He's the father, isn't he?"

"Just leave it, Peter."

"You and Nick?" Peter asked, a snort of laughter escaping him. "You don't even like the man!"

"You don't have to like someone to sleep with them. You of all people should know that, Peter."

"You must've taken temporary leave of your senses," Peter smirked. "To get into bed with that smarmy git."

"Actually, you can take the credit for me and Nick hooking up."

"What d'ya mean?"

"I mean it happened the night of the blessing," Carla confessed. "The first time anyway."

"The first –! What?" Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I must be dreaming. You and Nick flaming Tilsley? What is the world coming to?"

"Ah, Carla, here you are."

Carla looked up to see one of Underworld's most valued clients, Frank Foster, approaching her.

"Hi Frank," Carla greeted him with some confusion. "I'm sorry, did we have a meeting?"

"No, no," he assured her. "I just popped round on the off chance that you'd be free. But, if you're busy…" he looked askance at Peter.

"I'm not," she said without hesitation. "Shall we head back to the factory?"

"Great," Frank said with a ready smile, gesturing in the direction of the factory. "After you."

Shoving the pregnancy test hastily into her handbag, Carla rose to her feet, ready to follow Frank when Peter's hand shot out and grabbed onto her arm, holding her back.

"Carla!" Peter hissed at her. "We need to talk."

"Not now, Peter."

"When?"

"I don't know, just please keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?"

Peter dropped his head under the intensity of Carla's gaze, kicking himself for getting into a situation where he would be forced to deceive his wife, so soon after their declarations of honesty.

"Please, Peter," Carla begged. "For me."

He looked up at her, looked her in the eyes; there was only one answer.

"I already promised you, Carla. I'll keep your secret."

* * *

"Where have you been?" Leanne's interrogation started the moment Peter stepped foot over the threshold of the bookies. "You've been gone ages."

"Oh, yeah, I popped to the Kabin for some more fags," Peter explained as he made a beeline to the back office. "Fancy a brew, love?"

"No thanks," Leanne shook her head. "I'm going out."

"Where to?"

"The bank," Leanne said, opening the register and taking out a twenty pound note. "We need change."

"But I got some this morning –"

"We need more."

"O-kay."

Leanne stalked to the door, turning to face Peter before she stepped out onto the street.

"Do you remember, Peter," she began. "When we were on honeymoon and we talked about being honest with each other. No matter what. That honesty would be the only way our marriage would survive?"

"I remember."

"So, if there's anything you ever need to tell me."

"I'll tell you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"And you've got nothing to tell me at the moment?"

"Lea, what's with the third degree?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

* * *

Carla sank down into her office chair with a sigh. She was already regretting taking Frank Foster on as a client. He had quickly become her most demanding client, constantly calling in without warning to check up on his order, monopolising her time, leering at her staff.

She had tried to ignore the way he blatantly stared at Maria, lusted after her. It was one thing for Carla to use the sexual desire she created in men to her advantage; that was her choice and she could handle it. But she knew it made Maria uncomfortable and Carla didn't want to lose her as an employee. What had started as a kind of experiment, Maria's installation in the Underworld office as her assistant had proved an unmitigated success. And Frank's unwanted attention was a threat to this.

But the reality was, Underworld needed Frank's business. And if they could get this small initial order right, if they could impress him, the big orders Carla knew Frank was dangling as a carrot to maintain her attentiveness towards him would keep them in business for a very long time.

As she relaxed, all thoughts of Frank Foster dissipated from her mind, only to be replaced with thoughts of a much more personal nature. Nothing could get more personal than the new life that was growing inside her. A new life that she'd never wanted, but a life that she couldn't bring herself to even contemplate extinguishing. This baby was a part of her, whether she liked it or not.

Which was ridiculous; she knew she couldn't have this baby, she couldn't have any baby. She wasn't capable of being a good mother, it just wasn't in her. And she certainly couldn't have a baby with Nick Tilsley.

"Good, you're not busy."

"Ugh! What do you want?" Carla stared up as Leanne Battersby, no– Leanne Barlow, stormed into her office, shut the door firmly behind her and faced the Underworld boss, her arms crossed, her eyes narrow.

"I've come to give you some advice," Leanne said with a sneer.

"Oh, have you now," Carla said with a roll of her eyes. "Let me guess, you've come to warn me off Peter?"

"Well it seems you still haven't got the message."

"Leanne, there's nothing going on between me and Peter."

"Not for want of trying on your part."

"I really don't have time for this," Carla rose to her feet and walked to the door, ready to usher her unwelcome visitor out. "I'd like you to leave, please."

"I'm not finished with you!" Leanne grabbed Carla's arm as she reached for the door handle and shoved her roughly up against the wall. Her eyes bulging as her temper frayed to the point of snapping, she leaned in to Carla, her face inches away from the other woman's, and hissed at her, "You go near him again and you'll regret it. Don't push me, Carla."

Without another word, Leanne gave Carla one last shove before storming out of the office door. Carla remained where Leanne had left her, with her back pressed up against the wall, her breath coming in great gasps, her hand instinctively reaching for her stomach as the pain seared through her body.

"Carla?" Maria asked with concern. "Is everything alright? I just saw Leanne, she didn't look happy. Carla, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Carla forced a smile as she masked the pain. "Listen, Maria, can you please go and check on Kirk and see how the Trindleys order is getting on?"

"But, Carla –"

"Maria!" Carla insisted. "They're expecting the delivery this afternoon."

"Okay," Maria capitulated. "I'm going."

"Thank you."

The moment Maria had closed the office door, Carla's mask slipped and the tears began to fall. Almost doubled over with pain, her hand rubbing her lower abdomen in a vain attempt to soothe the cramping muscles, Carla knew now, now that it was too late, that she wanted this baby. Wanted it desperately. It didn't matter who the father was, she was this baby's mother. That was all that mattered; her baby.


	4. Week 4: Ultimatum

**Week 4: Ultimatum**

This baby was going to be trouble. Carla knew this full well. After all, she – Carla Connor – was its mother. What a role model. The scare it had given her after her run in with Leanne had terrified her. Not that she could blame baby for that; it had been nothing to do with the baby at all; the baby was fine. Once the relief of knowing she wasn't losing her baby had worn off, she had been left with the uncomfortable knowledge that she really wanted this baby. A lot.

"Carla, do you have a minute?" Maria Connor asked as she hovered just inside the Underworld office door.

"What is it, Maria?" Carla asked in clipped tones; Maria's nervous fidgeting automatically sent her irritability levels sky high.

"The thing is, Carla," Maria started hesitantly. "I'm not sure I'm the best person for the job."

"Maria," Carla finally looked up at her assistant with probing eyes. "This is your job."

"My job is to answer the phone, make the coffee, do the filing. It's not –"

"Your job, Maria, is to do whatever it takes to make sure Underworld stays in business and makes a profit."

"But –"

"And if that means a little schmoozing with a client, then what's the big deal?"

"I just think that you'd be much better at it than me," Maria said. "It's not really me, is it? All this wining and dining."

"Look, Maria, figures, contracts… It's all very well and good, but in this game, what really matters is how we all get on. I mean, does he like us? Do we like him? So… maybe being a bit flirty every now and again doesn't do us any harm. And it certainly might do us a lot of good. Okay?"

"Okay," Maria said with a resigned sigh. "I just wish it wasn't Frank, that's all."

"I know he's a bit pervy –"

"A bit?!"

"Look, I'm not asking you to sleep with the guy, just be friendly. Can you do that?"

"I can do friendly."

"Good girl," Carla said. "I'll be working late, yeah, so drop by afterwards if you want to."

"You'll be here?"

"Yeah, I've got a meeting."

"Oh?" Maria was surprised. "Who with? I didn't see anything in the book."

"Never you mind. Just you keep your focus on the task at hand. Which is…?"

"Get Frank to sign the contract?"

"Bingo!"

"Okay, then," Maria said, taking a deep breath, in and out. "Wish me luck."

"You won't need it," Carla said with an encouraging smile. "And, Maria, nice dress."

Maria smiled self-consciously, her hands instinctively smoothing down the fabric of the dress she'd bought especially for the occasion; a black mini-dress that broke the cardinal rule of fashion by showing off both her legs and her cleavage at the same time.

"Go on then," Carla chivvied her. "Get outta here. And try to have a little fun."

With Maria finally gone, Carla's thoughts turned to other matters. She looked at her watch; he wasn't due for a while yet, so she may as well take this opportunity to work through the Underworld accounts. If nothing else, it would take her mind off what was coming.

* * *

Carla instinctively turned her head to the side when Nick tried to kiss her, his display of affection landing on her cheek instead of its intended target. Obviously, she hadn't asked him to visit the factory that night for another hot session of sex up against the filing cabinet. Nick couldn't help but be disappointed.

Carla stared at him with narrowed eyes, watching the momentary expression of lust flicker across his face. She also thought back to that night, not long after their 'benefits' arrangement had begun, when Nick had visited her in the factory while she was working late, and of the scenes that followed; up against the filing cabinet, on her desk, in the reject knicker bin. She blushed at the memory.

"What's wrong with you?" Nick asked, bringing her back to the reality of the present. "Have I done something to upset you?"

"Have a seat." Carla nodded to the chair opposite her as if she were speaking to a business associate. "We need to talk."

"Oh, right." Nick faltered, suddenly unnerved. He sat down in the chair dictated by her and looked across at her with a mixture of expectation and nervousness. He felt like a naughty schoolboy about to be chastised by the headmistress.

"Look, Carla," Nick began, his first instinct to diffuse the situation with a bit of light-hearted banter. "If you're going to say you've fallen in love with me."

"In your dreams."

"I mean, I wouldn't blame you."

"Nick, this isn't a joke."

"I am quite the catch, you know."

"Nick, please, this is serious."

"So am I," Nick's smile faded as he gazed at Carla in earnest. "You and me, Carla, we're a bit of fun, no strings, no serious talks needed."

"I'm pregnant."

Whatever Nick had been expecting, this was not it. Pregnant? For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, silently praying that this was her idea of a sick joke.

"I know how to shut you up in the future," Carla joked with the hint of a grin which quickly faded at the sight of Nick's face.

"Is it...?"

"Yours?" Carla nodded. "Yes."

Again, Nick was silent. Carla looked at him expectantly, hopefully even.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked her with a despondent shrug.

"I don't know," Carla said, the reality of Nick's reaction slowly sinking in. "Maybe how you feel?"

"This wasn't part of the plan."

"I do realise that."

"In which case, we both know the solution, don't we?"

"Do we?" Of course Carla knew but, until he said it, until she heard those words come out of his mouth, she wouldn't believe it of him.

"You need to get rid of it."

"It's not that simple, Nick."

"It really is," Nick was adamant. "You cannot have a baby. Definitely not my baby. Get rid, Carla. It's the right thing to do."

"What do you mean, I can't have a baby?"

"I, ahh…" Nick realised his mistake too late. "I mean, you're a career woman, Carla. You don't want a baby cramping your style."

"Plenty of career women have babies," Carla said coldly. "Why not me?"

"Yeah, well, this isn't any old baby, is it? It's mine. And I don't want it."

"I do."

Nick stared at Carla in disbelief. He couldn't believe that this woman he thought he knew, with her icy cold demeanour, her ruthlessness, and her driving ambition, suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be a mother.

"And that's your final word?"

"Yeah," Carla stared at Nick with a defiance that burned in her eyes like fire. "It is."

"I'm sorry, Carla, but you do realise you'll be doing it on your own?"

"You can go now, Nick." Carla said coldly. "We don't need you."

The door of the office flew open; Maria rushed in, her eyes wild and her makeup mingled to grotesque effect with the tears that were streaming down her face.

"Maria?" Carla asked, jumping to her feet and rushing towards her friend and colleague. "What's wrong?"

But Maria was in no state to talk; all she could do was sob uncontrollably, her face buried in Carla's shoulder.

"Nick," Carla hissed. "Do you mind?"

"We're not done, Carla."

"We'll talk about it later. Go on, get out of here, I want to talk to Maria."

"I'm not changing my mind."

"Whatever, just get out!"

With Nick gone, Carla turned her attention to Maria, soothing her, stroking her hair and patting her back, uttering soft sounds of comfort, until finally Maria's body stopped shaking uncontrollably, and her chest stopped heaving.

"Come on, love," Carla said, manoeuvring Maria towards the chair recently vacated by Nick. "Sit down. There you go. How about a nice brew, yeah?"

"No," Maria shook her head. "I don't want tea, I want… I want tonight never to have happened."

"What is it, Maria? What's happened?"

It's Frank," Maria gasped through sobs that threatened to overwhelm her once more. "He– he– he tried to rape me."

"He what now?"

"Frank tried to rape me."

"Okay, you need to tell me exactly what happened."

"I went over there like we agreed, we had a few drinks. And he was good company to begin with. Then later on he started dropping hints about how much he liked me. So I told him I was with someone."

"That's when he went for you?"

"No," Maria shook her head. "I know it sounds stupid, but I thought he was alright with it, so I stayed and had a few more drinks. That's when he tried to kiss me. I tried to stop him, I did, but he wouldn't listen. He started grabbing at me and pulling at my clothes. And I don't know how, but I managed to get away, because the next thing I remember I was running down the street."

"He didn't come after ya?"

"No."

"Oh, darlin'," Carla soothed, rubbing Maria's back gently. "I'm so sorry."

"I should count myself lucky, I suppose."

"You know what you have to do, don't you?"

"No, Carla," Maria shook her head. "I don't think I can."

"You need to call the police."

"I can't," Maria began to sob again. "Please don't make me."

"I won't force you to do anything," Carla reassured her. "But, Maria, Frank attacked you. He would've raped you if you hadn't fought him off. You can't let him get away with it."

"I don't know."

"I'll be right there with you, okay," Carla promised her. "Every step of the way."

* * *

"If we can go over the events of the night one more time," the police officer said. "To get all the facts straight."

"Okay," Maria sighed as the exhaustion set in. The shock and heightened emotion of the attack had worn off and the realisation of what a police investigation would mean, not just the intrusion into her private life, but also the public scrutiny, was starting to dawn on her. "Do I have to?"

"We want to get this right," the officer said.

"I really just wanna go home."

"Hey, you're doing so well," Carla tried to encourage her. "We're almost there. You are almost done with her, aren't you?" Carla asked the officer.

"For now, yes," the officer said, before explaining the process. "Then we'll need you to come in and make a formal statement. At which point we'll talk to Mr Foster of course, see what he has to say for himself. And then we'll make a decision on whether there's enough evidence to proceed to charges."

"_If_ there's enough evidence?" Maria asked, dumbfounded. "He did this, there's no _if_ about it."

"I understand that, but the prosecutor's office will need to look at the case from the perspective of whether there's enough evidence to secure a conviction in court."

"I can't do this," Maria shook her head firmly. "I can't, Carla."

"Maria –"

"I mean it Carla," Maria stood as if to emphasise her point. "I wanna forget tonight ever happened. I'm sorry."

"Don't ever say you're sorry, Maria," Carla said. "Remember you're the victim here."

"I'm not a victim. I'm nothing. Nothing happened. I'm going home."

* * *

Carla slumped against the front door of Maria's flat and leaned her head back, her eyes closed, with a weariness that threatened to overwhelm her completely.

She had insisted on walking Maria home and had tried her best to talk to her about what had happened, about Frank's attack, but Maria had put up all her defences and stubbornly refused to discuss it, pretending like nothing had happened. But what could Carla do? She couldn't force her to talk to the police, to give evidence in court. No, she had to support her in any way she could.

Carla raised her hand to her forehead and pressed her palm against her skin, the coolness of her fingers giving relief to the searing headache that had come on suddenly amidst the dramatic and unexpected events of the evening.

"You look done in."

Carla clutched her hand to her chest in shock at the sound of Peter's voice, so unexpectedly close to her.

"You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," Peter said. "You looked a million miles away. Anything you wanna talk about?"

Carla gazed at him for a moment, at those sympathetic eyes that were offering what no one else was; kindness and understanding.

"Yeah, I'd like that," she nodded. "But not here."

"The factory?"

"Yeah," Carla said, gratefully taking the arm Peter offered her. "Why are you out on the street at this time of night anyway?"

"I could say the same thing about you," Peter smirked. "No, I was just coming out of the Rovers."

"Headed home?"

"I can spare a few minutes."

Carla glanced at the man walking so companionably by her side and couldn't help but smile. His mere presence made everything else seem unimportant; Maria's narrow escape, Nick's reaction to her announcement, the unspoken and mounting fear of impending single-motherhood. None of it mattered; nothing mattered except the way her arm linked through his made her feel safe, and the way he smiled at her made her feel like a giddy teenager.

* * *

"And this is a client of Underworld what did it?" Peter stared incredulously at Carla as they sat side-by-side in Carla's office.

"You know the one we saw on the street last week?"

"Ugh, he had the look of a slime ball and all."

"You saw that, did you?" Carla scoffed. "From, what? Thirty seconds of conversation?!"

"I have a very keen sense for these types of things."

"I didn't see it," Carla admitted ruefully. "Even though the warning signs were there, I ignored them. And you know what makes it worse, Peter?"

"What?"

"I put Maria in danger because of it," she said. "I ignored all my instincts and used Maria as bait to get what I wanted."

"You couldn't have predicted what would happen."

"Couldn't I?" Carla asked. "Why is it then, that I gave Maria the afternoon off to buy a new outfit for the occasion? A revealing outfit at that. Why did I tell her to flirt with him? Hmm? Why did I do these things, Peter, if I didn't already know that Frank fancied her? That he was more likely to sign the contract if he thought he had a chance to bed her?"

"It doesn't matter what she was wearing, Carla. It doesn't matter how much she flirted with him. It didn't give him the right to do what he did."

"I know," Carla said. "I do know that, but… she did those things because I told her it was her job. I didn't give her a choice. When I think about what could've happened."

"But it didn't."

"Maria was lucky," Carla agreed. "_I_ was lucky."

"Yeah," Peter murmured, glancing across at Carla, noticing the droop of her head; was it merely the night's events wearing her down, or was it something else, he wondered. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" Carla sighed, hesitating for just a moment before revealing the truth. "I told Nick about the baby."

"Oh?" Peter tried not to appear overly curious. "How did he take it?"

"Not well," Carla said. "He wants me to get rid of it."

Peter suppressed the sudden and overwhelming desire to seek out Nick and beat him for making such a demand of Carla and instead focused on the woman sitting by his side, clearly distressed at the ultimatum, and sought to provide her with the comfort she needed.

"What do you want, Carla?"

"Last week, I thought I was having a miscarriage. I thought I was losing it. Don't worry, everything's fine," she added hastily at the look of concern on Peter's face. "But it made me realise how much I want this baby. How crazy is that? Me wanting a baby!"

"Hold onto that feeling," Peter said as he gently placed his hand over hers.

"I don't want to do it alone, Peter."

"You're not alone, Carla. You've got friends. You've got me."

"It's not the same."

"I know."

Peter didn't know what else to say. There was a part of him – a big part – that wished things could be different, that he could provide the security that Carla so desperately craved. But all he could do was wrap his arm around her and stroke her hair as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. This temporary respite was all he could do for her, and he hated himself for it.


	5. Week 5: The moral dimension

**Week 5: The moral dimension**

"This is unbearable," Frank declared as he began to pace up and down Carla's office, his head shaking from side to side as his frustration grew. "Her sitting there glaring at me."

"I wasn't–" Maria protested, appealing to Carla with an aggrieved expression on her face.

"It's not on, Carla," Frank pressed on despite Maria's protests. "I won't put up with it."

"Maria," Carla said gently but firmly to her assistant. "Come on now, I think we both know what you were doing. Why don't we talk about it? Clear the air?"

"Am I missing something?" Frank demanded as he loomed over the two women, staring down at them from on high. "I know I'm just a man but even I can sense the tension in here."

"Maria?" Carla prodded her gently.

"I can't," Maria shook her head, her eyes downcast.

"You attacked her, Frank," Carla had no such qualms and faced Frank without fear. "Surely even you, mere man that you are, must understand why she's the teensiest bit upset."

"I... attacked her?" Frank stared at Carla incredulously. "Have you lost your mind? What a ridiculous thing to say!"

"Are you denying it?"

"Denying it?" Frank asked, supposedly dumbfounded. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Are you serious?!" Maria cried out in disgust. "You know exactly what– The other night at your house? When you tried to rape me? Remember that?"

"She's lying," Frank said calmly, ignoring Maria and speaking directly to Carla.

"Why would she lie about something like that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Frank shrugged. "Maybe… maybe you two cooked it up between you. Maybe this is your sick new negotiating tactic. Screw a higher price out of me by accusing me of… that!"

"That's offensive, Frank," Carla said.

"No, Carla," Frank turned on her. "What's offensive is being branded a, a, a rapist? A pervert? What exactly are you accusing me of? When the worst thing I did was pay her a compliment."

"Maria said–"

"Maria's a liar."

"Maria has never given me any cause to doubt her."

"So, you're calling me a liar?"

"Frank, I think–"

"I'll make this easy for you, Carla," Frank said. "Either she apologises for her unfounded and frankly libellous accusations, or..."

"Or what?"

"The deal's off," Frank said. "I take my business elsewhere."

"Frank–"

"You have a good long think about that, Carla," Frank said, the hint of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "We wouldn't want it getting around that you're difficult to work with now, would we? You know how tight-knit this industry is. One word from me and you're finished."

Before Carla could open her mouth to speak, Frank flounced out of the office without a backwards glance.

"I'm so sorry, Carla," Maria said.

"Hey, don't you dare apologise," Carla reassured her. "This is not your fault."

"But we need his business," Maria said. "If we lose his contract, then Underworld is–"

"I know!" Carla snapped. "Sorry, I'm sorry Maria. I know all that, I don't need reminding from you."

"What are you going to do?"

Carla shrugged her shoulders and replied with a sigh. "Honestly, Maria, I have no idea."

"Somebody's not happy."

Carla and Maria's necks both snapped at the same time, turning to look at the office door, surprised to see the newcomer in their midst; Peter Barlow.

"The, umm, the suit," Peter said, pointing towards the door. "Just stormed outta here, face like thunder."

"Peter, sorry," Carla said. "Can you give me a minute, I need to talk to Maria."

"No, Carla, it's fine," Maria shook her head as she rose to her feet. "If it's okay with you, do you mind if I take an early mark?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Maria nodded. "I just wanna go home."

"Alright," Carla agreed. "If you need anything."

Carla watched Maria gather up her things and quickly leave the office, desperate to reach the sanctuary of home before the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her began to fall down her cheeks.

"Don't ask," Carla said as she turned to face Peter, his eyebrow raised with an unspoken question. "What can I do you for?"

"If you wanna talk about–"

"I don't," Carla was adamant. "So, if you could please please talk about anything except the knicker business, I would be forever grateful."

"Well, you are in luck," Peter said teasingly, unable to keep the grin from his face. "Because, I've just come back from town."

"And…" Carla prompted him. "You're not gonna make me guess, are you?"

"No," Peter said. "And I know it's early days, but I saw it in a shop window and I couldn't resist it."

"What are you talking about, Peter?"

"This."

From the plastic carrier bag in his hands, Peter pulled out a onesie, the perfect size for a newborn, made out of a soft taupe fabric, its cuffs trimmed with something white and fluffy and with an attached hood with little ears shaped like the ears of a rabbit.

"Oh, Peter," Carla gushed as she reached out to touch the fabric, running her fingers lightly over its soft cosiness.

"You like it?"

"It's adorable," Carla said, taking from Peter the garment he was offering her and staring at it, the unexpected and strange feeling in the pit of her stomach surprising her. "Thank you."

"Oh my god," Peter said as he stared at Carla's reaction. "Are you gonna cry?"

"It's the hormones," Carla sniffed in protest.

"Yeah, right."

"Really, Peter, it's beautiful," Carla smiled at him gratefully. "And very thoughtful. Thank you."

"You're welcome, but…" Peter said before adding cryptically, "that's not all."

"What do you mean?"

"I got these as well," Peter revealed a pair of matching booties.

"I don't know what to say," Carla said with a gentle shake of her head. "This is all... suddenly very real."

"I wish I could stay and chat," Peter said regretfully. "But I gotta get going, I gotta find a babysitter for our Si tonight."

"Oh?" Carla asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You doing something special?"

"Hardly," Peter shook his head. "No, Howard's asked me to give a talk at another group, AA group, guest speaker, you know, tell my story."

"That's great," Carla said. "You'll be amazing."

"To be honest, I'm a little nervous."

"Just be yourself and you'll be fine."

"What if that's not enough?"

"It is," Carla reassured him. "Trust me on that."

"Thanks."

"What about Leanne?"

"Leanne?"

"Why can't she look after Simon?"

"She's, umm, she's visiting her sister for a few days. Toyah. And dad and Deirdre have got plans, so…"

"I'll do it."

"You?"

"Yes, me. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I'm sure, it's just…" Peter struggled to find the right words. "Aren't you busy with work?"

"I'll have you know that me and Paul looked after our Ryan all the time when he was a kid."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is," Carla said. "In fact, I was his favourite aunty."

"I bet you were."

"Oi!" Carla playfully whacked him on the arm. "That's my nephew you're talking about!"

"Sorry," Peter said with a look that was anything but sorry. "Alright, how does six-thirty sound?"

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

"If you've got everything you need, I'll leave you two to it," Peter said, looking dubiously at the sofa where Carla and Simon were sat side-by-side. "I won't be late, Si."

"Bye dad," his son responded with a roll of his eyes, keen to get him out the door.

"Oh, nice, he can't wait to get rid of me," Peter said to Carla. "If you need anything–"

"Go," Carla prompted him. "We'll be fine, won't we, Si?"

"Dad!" Simon repeated Carla's order. "Go!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

With his dad safely out of the way, Simon turned to Carla and stared at her expectantly, curious to know more about his new babysitter.

"So, young man," Carla addressed him. "What would you like for dinner?"

"Are you cooking?"

"Umm, no," Carla replied with a wry smile. "I'm not exactly what you would call a skilled cook. My talents, umm... they lie elsewhere."

"Where are they?" Simon asked, his face the picture of innocence.

"Where are what?" Carla stared at him in confusion.

"Your talents, silly."

"Oh…" Carla replied with furrowed brow, her mind racing to come up with an appropriate answer; her famous party trick of getting out of a sports car in six-inch heels without flashing her knickers was not, she reasoned, something she should be relaying to an eight-year-old boy. "Did you know that I can..." Carla leaned in close to Simon with a conspiratorial grin and whispered in his ear, "break an apple in half with by bare hands?"

"No way," Simon exclaimed, shaking his head with scepticism. "I don't believe you."

"You don't believe me?"

"It's impossible," Simon declared. "It can't be done."

"Is that a challenge, Si?"

Simon nodded eagerly; he was sure he was right.

"Go on, then," Carla accepted the challenge. "Get us an apple."

Simon immediately jumped up from the sofa and ran to the kitchen to fetch Carla the requested apple.

"Thank you very much, master Barlow," Carla said as Simon handed over his offering. "Okay," she rose to her feet and took a few deep breaths, readying herself for the challenge. "Are we ready, Si?"

"Ready!" he cheered her on.

"Let's do this."

Simon watched in awe as Carla gripped the apple in her hands and put on a show of great struggle, upping the drama levels and playing to Simon's fascination with her party trick. "Aaaarrrrgghhhhh…" Carla groaned with the effort and then… snap! The apple split in two. Carla gleefully presented the two halves to Simon.

"Yes!" he cheered and clapped, marvelling at the broken apple, picking each piece up, one at a time, and staring at it. "That was well cool!" he said, beaming up at Carla. "Can you teach me?"

"Maybe another time, yeah?"

"Oh, but–"

"No buts," Carla said firmly. "Right now, it's time for your dinner. And I was thinking that, since I won the challenge, I should get to choose what we eat. If that's alright with you?"

"Umm…" Simon wasn't so sure handing over this much power to Carla was a good idea. "I guess so?"

"Right, then," she said with a cheeky grin as Simon stared up at her in nervous anticipation, willing her to choose wisely. "How about… pizza?"

"Yeah!" Simon almost shouted, his relief was so great.

"What toppings do you like, Si?"

"Umm… pepperoni and ham and cheese," he listed off his favourite toppings.

"And what about vegetables?"

Simon merely shrugged; who needed vegetables when you had pepperoni, he thought.

"Mushrooms?" she asked him hopefully, only to be met with a fierce shake of his head. "Peppers? No? Umm, olives?"

"Urgh!"

"Let me guess, you don't want anchovies either?"

"That's gross!"

"Okay," Carla gave up the fight and caved to Simon's will. "Meat and cheese it is."

While Carla was busy ordering their dinner, Simon got to work setting up one of his favourite hobbies, eager for an opportunity to show off something he was skilled in.

"Carla!" he called out to her as soon as she hung up the phone. "D'ya wanna play before dinner? Go on, dad lets me."

"Well, if your dad lets you," Carla said, immediately capitulating to Simon's will. "What game are we playing?"

"Car racing."

"Okay then," Carla said, grabbing one of the controllers from Simon's hands. "I have to warn you, though, I am an expert driver so prepare to lose kid."

"In your dreams," Simon shot back. "You're going down, Connor."

* * *

Peter quietly pushed open the door to his flat, careful not to wake Simon, reasoning that he would be fast asleep in his bed by this time, and padded inside.

The sight that greeted him, however, subjugated his expectations. Carla and Simon were both curled up on the sofa, slumbering peacefully while the television played quietly in the background. He smiled as he noticed Carla's arm around Simon's shoulder, and Simon's head resting on her breast. The evening had obviously been a success.

Without a word, Peter picked up the remote control and switched off the television. Then, ever so gently, he lifted Carla's arm off his son's shoulder and picked the lad up in his arms, Simon's hands instinctively reaching around his dad's neck, his curly-haired head tucked into the crook of his neck.

"Mmm..." Carla moaned softly, the movement having caused her to stir but thankfully not to waken.

Tearing his gaze reluctantly from Carla's peaceful figure, Peter carried Simon away and into his bedroom.

* * *

"Hey."

Carla's eyes flickered at the sound of Peter's voice and the touch of his fingers as they gently swept a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"Si...?" she asked drowsily as she slowly opened her eyes and glanced about the dimly lit room.

"I've put him to bed," Peter explained.

"I think we fell asleep," Carla said as her mind along with her body slowly returned to consciousness.

"You did."

"We were watching a movie," Carla murmured. "A cartoon bird? Or was it the one with the fish? I can't remember, they're all so… irritating."

"Yeah," Peter agreed with a laugh. "They can get a bit much after a dozen or so times watching them."

'Mmm…" Carla sighed as she stretched her arms in the air. "I could've easily slept there all night if you'd let me. I am exhausted."

"Oh, Carla, you should've said, I could've got someone else to mind Si if you weren't up to it."

"No, Peter, I wasn't saying– I wanted to do it. Honestly, it's more mental exhaustion than anything. And hanging out with an eight-year-old was probably the best thing for me, get my mind off… stuff."

"Why don't I make us a brew and you can tell me all about it?"

"No," Carla shook her head. "I think I've unloaded on you enough these past few weeks."

"What are friends for, hey."

"Hmm..." Carla said, looking him up and down with a faux critical eye. "I guess you do have your uses."

"I'm multi-talented, me," Peter said with a grin as he turned to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on.

"So tell me, then," Carla said as she twisted around on the sofa and gazed at him over the backrest. "How was your talk tonight?"

"Yeah," Peter reflected on his evening. "Once I got over me nerves, it was really good. I got some good feedback. One guy in particular, he approached me after and said, umm, what were his exact words…? He said my story resonated with him. It was his first time, you see, and he wasn't sure about the whole thing, AA I mean, whether it was for him or not but, when he heard me talk, he knew he'd done the right thing."

"It was almost like you were pre-destined to be there tonight, for him to hear your story, for the two of you to meet."

"Yeah," Peter nodded with a smile. "You might be right."

"I'm very rarely wrong."

"It did feel good," Peter added. "Using the wreck I made of my life to help someone else."

"Hey," Carla said. "The past is done with. You've turned your life around, that's all that matters."

* * *

"So," Peter said as he passed a mug of tea to Carla and, cradling his own in his hands, sat down next to her on the sofa. "Tell me what's got you so drained."

"It's this Frank and Maria business," she explained. "Basically, he's denying anything untoward ever happened and, if Maria doesn't apologise, then he's going to pull the plug on the contract, refuse to work with Underworld."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Carla shook her head. "I could force Maria to play nice, to apologise to him for the sake of the business. But, Peter, he is the one in the wrong. He tried to rape her."

"So, tell him to do one."

"I can't. I need his business."

"No, you don't."

"Trust me, Peter, I do."

"You don't," Peter insisted.

"Peter, stop!" Carla snapped. "I'm sorry, but you have no idea about my business. It's not just losing this contract, which we desperately need to stay afloat, by the way. It's about my reputation. If word gets around that I'm difficult to work with, then I'm finished. And don't think Frank wouldn't do it. Oh no, I think he'd enjoy it, just to prove how powerful he is."

"I may not know your business, Carla, but I do know business. I am a businessman, remember?"

"A back-street bookies? Not exactly Wall Street, is it?"

"I'll ignore that slight on my business prowess since you're feeling a little stressed," Peter said with a smile. "What I mean is that you're looking at this from the wrong direction."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Peter."

"Like you said, I don't know the trade. But the way you do business, the way your business is structured, it can't be the only way to make money out of knickers. Can it? Take the bookies for example. That business is set up to make money off the punter physically walking in off the street and placing a bet. So, how do I compete when my competition is suddenly all over the internet, it's on the punters phone, in their own homes, so they don't even have to get off their fat arses to have a flutter? If I don't find some way to adapt, then I'm not going to have a business for long, am I?"

"I need to adapt, that's what you're saying?"

"Yes," Peter said. "If Frank closes the door, you climb in through the window."

"You think I should sell online?"

"I don't know, Carla. You're the expert, you tell me."

"It's a huge risk," Carla said. "Changing the whole business model. I mean, it wouldn't just be me gambling my money, I'd be putting on the line the livelihood of all my workers. They rely on me, Peter, to put money in the bank, food on their tables, a roof over their heads."

"They also rely on you to protect them from scumbags like Frank Foster," Peter said. "Which I know you want to do, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Well then."

"I guess if it means being able to do business on my terms, without cosying up to sleazy businessmen like Frank, maybe it's worth the risk."

"I think so."

"What about the baby?"

"I don't understand."

"Right now, I need to be focusing on this baby, not on restructuring my whole business."

"Listen, do you know what stops me reaching for the bottle these days?"

"What?"

"Simon," Peter said. "The thought of letting him down. Again. I can't deal with that. I want him to be proud of me. Even though sometimes I crave it so much, the booze, that my whole body, my soul, everything in me is crying out for it, and I would happily kill someone for the tiniest sip. And then I picture Simon's face."

"And that helps?"

"It's everything. He is the only reason I have the willpower to make the right decisions."

"You're saying I should make a business decision to make my child, who isn't even born yet, proud of me?"

"It's as good a reason as any."

"It's really scary, Peter."

"I know," Peter said. "You what else I know?"

"What?"

"That you, Carla Connor, are smart, you are capable, more than, and you're stubborn as hell. And you are going to beat them at their own game, doing it your way. I know you will. Because I believe in you."


	6. Week 6: All by myself

**Week 6: All by myself**

"And then grandad took me to the library," Simon chattered away as he munched on his toast. "It was dead boring."

"Was it now?" Leanne couldn't help but smile at Simon's enthusiastic recounting of his days while she had been visiting her sister, Toyah. "Did you have any fun at all while I was away?"

"Mmm hmm…" Simon mumbled through a mouthful of toast. "I–"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Leanne gently chastised him.

Simon made a great show of chewing his food and swallowing it down with a huge sigh before opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out for Leanne's inspection.

"I at alwhite?" Simon muttered incomprehensibly, his tongue still poking out of his mouth.

"Si."

"Can I talk now?"

"You may," Leanne agreed. "You were going to tell me about all this fun you had without me."

"Carla looked after me one night," Simon enthused. "She's real cool. You know what she can do?"

"When was this, Si?"

"I dunno," Simon shrugged. "Dad. Dad!"

"Yes, son," Peter said, ambling into the living room as he buttoned up his shirt, his tattoos still clearly visible through the gap in the fabric.

"What day was it that Carla came round?"

"Umm…" Peter faltered, his gaze flickering between Simon's excited face and Leanne's ever darkening countenance, her arms crossed angrily across her chest and her eyebrow raised, a sure warning sign of what was to come. "That was Tuesday, mate."

"Si," Leanne said. "Go and brush your teeth or you're gonna be late for school."

"Aww!" Simon moaned. "Do I have to? Can't I stay home with you today? You've been gone ages and I missed you soooo much!"

"Nice try," Leanne said, unable to suppress a grin, despite her rising anger. "But I'm going to work, which means you, young man are going to school. Now go!"

With an air of one gravely aggrieved, Simon trudged to the bathroom, an audible sigh escaping his mouth.

"How could you?" Leanne demanded the moment Simon was safely out of ear shot.

"What?" Peter shrugged defensively.

"How could you let that woman into our home?" Leanne demanded. "Worse than that, how could you let her look after our son? She can barely look after herself, what makes you think she's capable of looking after a child?"

"As a matter of fact, Lea, she was really good with Simon."

"Really?" Leanne sneered.

"Yes, really," Peter said. "Just ask him."

"I'm not asking him–" Leanne exclaimed. "The point is, you shouldn't have let her in here, not after everything that's happened."

"That's the thing, Lea," Peter said. "Nothing happened between me and Carla. We're not the same as you and Nick."

"That's a low blow."

"It's the truth," Peter said. "And you know what? I'm sick and tired of being condemned for something I never did."

"Well, I don't trust her."

"Do you trust me?"

Leanne didn't, or couldn't, reply; she merely shook her head in exasperation at having lost control of the moral high ground.

"Well?" Peter pressed on.

"Yes," Leanne said. "Of course I trust you."

"Good," Peter said with a sigh of relief. "Now, can we please stop talking about Carla? She's not a threat to us, especially now."

"What?" Leanne's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why especially now?"

"Oh," Peter realised his mistake too late. "I mean now that everything's out in the open and you and me have made a fresh start. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise our life together."

"Hmm…" Leanne said, still struggling to suppress her doubts. "I guess you're right."

* * *

Carla picked up the pile of paperwork she had meticulously collected from this file and that over the course of the past few days and slipped them safely inside a manila folder. This meeting would be make or break for her grand plans for Underworld and she needed it to go off without a hitch. She needed, for what felt like the first time in her life, some good luck.

"Carla?"

"What is it, Maria?"

"Do you have a minute to talk?" Maria asked nervously.

"Can it wait?"

"Not really," Maria shook her head. "It's kind of important."

"Well, it's going to have to," Carla shut Maria down as she rose to her feet, grabbed her handbag and the manila folder, and strode towards the door. "Because I have got a very important meeting with the bank."

"Carla!" Maria cried out after her. "Please, I just need a…" Too late; Carla was gone. "A minute."

* * *

"Carla!" Simon called out to her as she stepped onto the Underworld forecourt, waving his hand excitedly. "Hi, Carla!"

"Si!" Leanne admonished the lad. "You're going to be late for school!"

"Hey, Si," Carla greeted the lad with a broad smile. "You off to school, are ya?"

"Yeah," Simon said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "But I'd much rather hang out with you."

"Oh, would you now?" Carla smiled. "You know what? I'd rather hang out with you and all. But unfortunately, I've gotta go meet with me bank manager, and you, mister, need to get to school."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do," Leanne interjected.

"Listen to your mum," Carla instructed him lightly. "Go on, get away with you."

"Bye, Carla!"

"Seeya, Si," Carla said cheerfully before greeting her former friend sombrely with a curt nod of her head. "Leanne."

"Carla."

Carla watched them go with a smile. That is, until the moment before they disappeared from view when Leanne glanced over her shoulder and aimed her best death stare at Carla. Suddenly, the panic began to rise within Carla. What did Leanne know? Had Peter told her about the baby? About her and Nick?

With this new worry on her mind, Carla slid into the driver's seat of her car and roared away down the cobbles.

* * *

"Well," the bank manager smiled at Carla. "You've obviously done your homework."

"I have," Carla agreed with confidence. "I know this business and I know what will work. This –" she patted her precious pile of paperwork. "This will work."

"Hmm…" he contemplated her, staring into her eyes; she held his gaze, refusing for one second to look away, to show any sign of weakness. "I believe you."

"So…" Carla said. "Does that mean you'll loan me the capital?"

"It means, in principal, yes, you'll get your money. We'll still have to do our due diligence."

"Of course."

"But, if everything checks out, you'll have the money in your account within, say, two weeks? How does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect," Carla rewarded him with a warm smile, extending her hand to him for a celebratory handshake. "Thank you, you won't regret it."

Carla was on cloud nine as she walked out of the bank, her future opening up before her with so much promise, so many opportunities, that she felt invincible. She truly believed that the past was done with. To prove that to herself, there was one thing she had to do.

Pulling out her mobile phone, she placed the call.

"Frank? It's Carla, we need to talk."

* * *

Carla sat perched on the edge of a barstool, one of many lined up along the counter of a rustic wine bar located close to her bank, and swirled a straw absently around the lime and soda in front of her.

"That's not like you," a horribly familiar voice retrieved Carla from her reverie. "I would've thought you'd have ordered us a bottle of red by now?"

"It's not going to be that kind of meeting, Frank."

"Oh," Frank nodded in understanding. "I take it you haven't come to apologise?"

"I've got nothing to apologise for," Carla said. "Neither has Maria."

"I beg to differ," Frank said. "So, why have you dragged me in here because, unless I get that apology, you know what will happen, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll pull my business from Underworld and –"

"Good."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want your business, Frank."

"You can't be serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Fine." Frank leaned down and thrust his face in front of hers, way too close for comfort, and whispered menacingly, "but don't say I didn't warn you."

"You don't scare me, Frank," Carla held her ground, refusing to back away from him, despite almost recoiling at the sensation of his hot breath on her face. "So go and play your little mind games with someone else."

"You think I'm playing games?" Frank scoffed at her. "This isn't a game to me, not anymore. I will destroy you. That's a promise."

Frank rose to his full height, adjusted his tie calmly and, without deigning to even glance again in Carla's direction, stalked out of the bar.

Carla let out the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding in. The tension of Frank's threats had tightened every muscle in her body almost to breaking point. But now she could relax; it was done and she could move on. But she couldn't quite shake the feeling that today she'd made an enemy; an extremely powerful enemy.

* * *

"Maria," Carla called her assistant in from the sewing floor and into her office the moment she arrived back at the factory after her showdown with Frank. "I need you."

"Can we have that chat now, Carla?" Maria asked as she hurried into the office after her boss.

"Shut the door," Carla ordered. "Listen, I've just been–"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I need to say something," Maria was firm. "I've been trying all day, but…"

"Well," Carla said, gesturing to Maria to continue. "You've got the floor, so... let's have it."

"The thing is," Maria faltered. "I, umm…"

"Spit it out, Maria."

"I'm resigning."

"Excuse me?"

"I've had a chat with Audrey," Maria explained. "And I'm going back to work at the salon."

"You're going back to hairdressing?"

"Yes."

"After everything I've done for you?"

"I–"

"The opportunities I gave you?"

"I'm sorry."

"Do you have any idea what I've just done for you?" Carla demanded the impossible. "With Frank? What I've sacrificed for you?"

"I'm sorry, Carla, but I never asked you to do anything."

"So, that's it?" Carla shrugged. "You're just going to leave? Just like that?"

"Yeah," Maria said. "I'm sorry, Carla. It's for the best. For both of us. You must see that?"

"You know what, Maria," Carla shifted gears into attack with ease. "I never thought you were so selfish."

"I, what?"

"Looking out for number one."

"That's not fair," Maria's voice wavered at this undeserved attack.

"Maria's alright, that's all that matters."

"Stop it!"

"I'm disappointed in you, Maria."

"I'm sorry."

"Get out."

"What?"

"You wanted to leave, so leave! Get out!"

Maria grabbed her things, her bag, her coat, her favourite mug, and, with a last confused look at Carla, hurried out of what, for a short time at least, had been her office.

Carla stared at the door for a long time after Maria had disappeared from view. She couldn't quite believe it, but she had come to rely on Maria around the factory. Not just for the work she did, but simply for her presence. Somehow, she found it comforting; to have someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off, someone who would show her some solidarity. Because that was a rare thing in Carla's life.

But now Maria was gone and, once again, Carla was on her own.

* * *

She had to see him. She knew she shouldn't. That she was taking a big risk by turning up at his work. If she saw the two of them together, it would be bad for him. But she desperately needed to talk to someone who understood her. She needed Peter.

Her initial plan was to casually walk past the bookies to find out if Peter was on his own in the shop and if it was safe to go in. To her surprise, not only was the bookies locked up shut, but Peter himself, along with Leanne and Simon, were all bundling into Peter's car, huge smiles on their faces, excited about whatever they were about to do. As a family.

They looked happy, Carla thought. Happy to be together.

Carla raised her hand and plastered on a smile in response to Simon as he sat leaning over the back seat and waving frantically to her out of the rear window.

And then she was left standing on the street, alone.

* * *

She didn't want to see him, but she was short of options right now and she was desperate to talk to somebody, anybody with a friendly face. So, she set off, hopeful for now, towards the end of Coronation Street where Nick was busy overseeing the rebuild of the bistro.

"Is Nick around?" Carla queried one of the workers who was helping unload a delivery of plasterboard sheeting.

"Who?"

"Nick," she repeated. "Nick Tilsley. Owns this place."

"Oh, is that his name. Yeah, love, he's inside."

Carla followed him in, into the shell of what used to be The Joinery; the place where… where she almost lost Peter.

And now she was here looking for another man entirely. A man who, even now, in the midst of this dusty construction site, was dressed in a suit; business was still business after all. Carla watched as Nick spoke with the site manager, studying the plans and giving direction. She admired his confidence, his assurance in himself no matter the situation.

"It's coming on nicely," Carla observed as she stepped towards Nick the moment the site manager had gone on his way. "You must be pleased."

"You shouldn't be in here without a hardhat," Nick said, effectively dismissing her presence in his business.

"Okay," Carla said, slightly taken aback. "Why don't you come outside then?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I dunno, Nick, to have a chat."

"What are you doing here, Carla?"

"Umm…" Carla faltered, suddenly unsure of herself. What was she doing here, she wondered? It's not like Nick was the top of her list of people to turn to. The truth was, she was here because everyone else had abandoned her. She was here because she was desperate. "I don't…"

"Look, Carla," Nick spoke directly, without emotion. "You know where I stand with... everything. I'm sorry, but nothing's changed."

"I'm sorry I bothered you."

Carla turned and walked out of the bistro, away from Nick who, even when seeing her obvious distress, had no inclination to go after her, and none at all to comfort her.

As much as Nick didn't care about Carla, Carla didn't care about the tears that were falling freely down her face as she stumbled along the cobbles; she didn't care that people saw the usually cold as ice factory boss crumble; and she didn't care about the stares and the whispers that would no doubt greet her when she walked back into Underworld in such a state.

The only thing she cared about was a fact that struck suddenly and viciously at the very core of her being; the fact that she was completely alone.


	7. Week 7: Out of the bag

**Week 7: Out of the bag**

"Wow, tough crowd." Carla exhaled audibly as she stared out at the hostile faces of the Underworld workforce, their eyes wide with the fear of the unknown, of change.

"To be fair, Mrs Connor," Hayley attempted to reason with her. "This is a big shock."

"And you haven't exactly explained what it is you'll be doing," Izzy piped up.

"Or how it will affect us!" Sean added.

"Okay," Carla prepared to explain herself all over again. "It's pretty simple really. At the moment, customers, be they wholesalers or retailers, engage us to produce their lines, their collections. That means their designs, their fabrics, their labels. Right?"

"We do know what goes on in here, Mrs Connor," Sally said. "There's no need to patronise us."

"Yes, I know," Carla sighed. "The point is, in the future, we won't be doing this. We won't be solely manufacturers. We'll be expanding so that we incorporate all the other stages of the process. Which means design, distribution, marketing, sales."

"You still haven't answered the question," Sean persisted. "What exactly does that mean for us? For our jobs?"

"It means that some of your positions will be reclassified."

"Reclassified as what?"

"I haven't ironed out all the details just yet."

"So, what? You expect us to just hang around, with our jobs, our futures in limbo?"

"I expect you to get on with the job I pay you for without complaint until I figure it out."

"And if we refuse?"

"Listen," Carla said. "This is a good thing. This is going to make Underworld better, stronger."

"Put more money in your pocket more like."

"Give me strength," Carla said, her exasperation clear. "I thought you'd all be happy about this. Excited even."

"It's the uncertainty, Mrs Connor," Hayley said, almost apologetically.

"But instead, you're acting like a bunch of ungrateful children."

"If that's how you feel," Sean said, sniffing hard in a clear display of contempt.

"I tell you what," Carla pressed on. "You all get back to your machines and get working this minute or you'll all find yourselves down the job centre by the end of the week."

"You've given us no choice," Sean continued. "We are going out on strike."

"Oh, Sean. Don't be ridiculous."

"Ladies?" Sean said, rising to his feet dramatically, his chin held high in the air, his gaze deliberately averted from his boss. "Who's with me?"

"Sean," Hayley tried to placate him. "I don't think we need to go that far."

"With respect, Hayls," Sean said. "You're too nice for your own good. Everyone? Pub!"

Carla watched in disbelief as Sean flounced out of the factory, followed by the remainder of her workforce, their minds thinking no further than an afternoon skiving in the pub. All except Hayley.

"They don't like change, Mrs Connor," Hayley said with an uncertain shrug. "I'll, umm, I'll talk to them if you like?"

"Thanks Hayley," Carla said. "Try to make them understand that these changes will benefit Underworld. And in the long run it'll benefit them as well. You understand this, don't you, Hayley?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs Connor," Hayley said. "I do see the positives from your point of view. But it's a risk, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, it is. Of course, anything worth doing carries some degree of risk, but–"

"A lot of the people that work here, they live pay check to pay check. So, anything that threatens that, well, you can see why they're a little bit nervous."

"I don't know," Carla grudgingly accepted Hayley's idea. "Maybe."

"They just need a little handholding, that's all."

"You'll–?"

"I'll talk to them."

* * *

Carla hadn't the patience for this. She never had when it came to industrial relations. No, if she waited for Hayley to talk them round, she'd be waiting forever. She needed to take action because, as much as she hated to admit it, she needed her workforce; her people. Even that troublemaker, Sean.

Without a moment's hesitation, Carla stormed from her office, tottered across the cobbles and breezed into the Rovers where, as expected, those mutineers were gathered, one big pack huddled around a booth, plotting their next move.

"Well?" Carla asked, hands on hips, her eyebrows raised. "Have we made any progress?"

"I think we've started to make some inroads," Hayley conceded.

"Into double voddy and tonics by the looks of it." Carla sighed and shook her head. "Look, I don't have time for this. "I'm over at that factory lining up meetings with retailers, buyers, distributors. Making all sorts of promises. Promises I can't keep without you. I need you. I need all of you. Every single one of you. So, please please come back to work."

"Can you guarantee our jobs?" Sally asked.

"As much as I can at any other time," Carla said, evasive to the last.

"That's a no then, is it?" Sean interjected, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Tell me, Sean, what's your favourite part of the job?"

"Tea break?"

"I'm being serious."

"Well, cutting of course," Sean said. "You know that, Mrs Connor."

"You know I'm going to need someone, a professional, to manage that process. I mean, it's going to be more involved what with making our own designs and all. Which is where you come in, Hayley. I'm going to need someone to take the sketches from the page and create the patterns that Sean will work with when he's cutting the fabric, and then I'll need people like, like Sally here and Izzy, our world class machinists who will bring those designs to life."

"What about me, Mrs Connor?" Kirk piped up.

"You, Kirky," Carla said with a smile. "You are invaluable to me right where you are."

"So I'm staying in Packing?"

"I wouldn't want you anywhere else."

"Ace!"

"Now, does any of this make a difference to your decision to walk out?"

"And this will all be down in writing?" Sally queried. "In our contracts?"

"Of course."

"And we'll get first dibs at any new jobs?" Sean asked. "Before you advertise?"

"You have my word," Carla said. "And to seal the deal, how about I gift you all with the rest of the afternoon off? With full pay. I'll even buy the next round. What do you say?"

* * *

"Darlin', I know how busy and important you are," Carla spoke into the phone with all the schmooze she could muster. "Which is why I wanted to get in early and set up a meeting for, shall we say, a month's time? ... That's right, direct to market ... Underworld original designs, only the best for you ... You will? That's great, thank you. Alright, I'll give your PA a call in the morning. Okay then, bye bye."

Carla hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair; she couldn't help but smile. Sure, this was going to be hard work, but the thrill of the chase, of going after that elusive retailer, of clinching that deal; she found all of it exhilarating. That her long-held dream of selling her own designs to the world was finally within her reach was almost unimaginable to her.

From the time she'd been forced to give up her children's clothing line back in 2007 and then when she'd inherited Paul's share of Underworld, Carla's wholehearted efforts had been poured into keeping the factory afloat, to maintaining the status quo, of delivering achievable annual growth percentages.

But now? This was her time. For her designs. Her designs.

Inspired by this thought, Carla pulled out a sketching pad and pencils from her desk drawer and began to sketch; the germination of ideas that would form the heart of her first ever Underworld exclusive lingerie collection. Soon she was lost in a world filled with bras and knickers and satin and lace. She hurried to the fabric storeroom and cut out swatches of fabrics; the fabrics that were speaking to her, that would bring to life the designs that were, at this moment in time, nothing more than simple sketches, mere pencil on paper.

Back in her office she fastened the various fabrics in different combinations to the sketches she'd completed earlier, opting for contrasting over complementing; she wanted this first collection to make the lingerie world sit up and take notice.

"Hm Hmm."

Carla's eyes flew up to her office door, her hand clutched instinctively to her chest in fright; she scowled as she saw Frank Foster leaning casually against the door frame.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "What do you want?"

"I know what you're up to, Carla," Frank said.

"Do you now?" she replied shortly. "Congratulations, Frank."

"You've been setting up meetings."

"And?" Carla asked with a shrug of her shoulders. "Your point is?"

"You know this puts you in direct competition with me?"

"So? Can't you handle a little competition?" Carla couldn't help but laugh. "That's not the arrogant Frank Foster I know and– know and despise."

"You're doing this to spite me?"

"I'm doing this because it makes sense for Underworld."

"You know you can't win."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Carla said, rising to her feet and grabbing her handbag, unwilling to have Frank in her factory one moment longer than she needed to. "Now if you don't mind?"

"What?"

"It's time to go."

Carla began to usher Frank out of her office, shooing him as if she were herding sheep.

"I'm not finished with you yet," Frank protested.

"That's too bad, Frank," Carla said. "Because I am more than done with you."

Carla strode towards the front door of the factory, leaving Frank with no option but to follow her, jogging along in her wake as she determined to leave him behind in more ways than one.

"I won't let you do this," Frank declared as the pair stepped out into the brisk evening air on the front doorstep of Underworld. He glared at her as she calmly secured the doors, twisting the key in the lock with a concentration that belied the ease of the task. But, the longer Carla ignored Frank, the angrier he got. "You can't do this," Frank repeated himself, to no avail. Carla was, as she had declared, done with him. "Are you listening to me!?"

"Oi!" Carla shouted as Frank grabbed hold of her forearm, twisting it around violently in an effort to try to shake off his grip; but he was too strong and too angry for her. "Let go of me!"

"Not until you talk to me."

Frank pushed Carla against the factory door. Carla winced as the door handle dug painfully into her back, impeding her natural instinct to back away from him. Instead she turned her face away, pressing her cheek into the cold hard surface of the door as Frank leaned in, whispering venomously in her ear.

"Women like you, you disgust me," Frank spat at her. "Thinking you can take on men like me and get away with it. But you all learn in the end, you all come to regret messing with me. You will–"

"Hey!" The sound of a voice and footsteps running over the cobbles. "Get your hands off her!"

"Peter!" Leanne called after him. "Don't do it!"

But Peter didn't listen to his wife; he would do it, and he did. He grabbed Frank from behind, pulling him roughly away from the factory door, away from Carla, and threw him to the ground, before reaching down and grabbing him by the lapels of his tailored suit jacket.

"Whoa, mate!" Frank held his hands in the air from his position of weakness, laid out on his back on the ground.

But Peter didn't listen.

"Stop it, Peter!" Leanne begged her husband. "He's not worth it."

Just as Frank's pleas had no power over him, neither did Leanne's. With all the force he could muster, Peter swung his fist down and crunched it into Frank's jaw. He raised his fist again, ready to lay another punch on the wounded man, when–

"Peter."

Her voice was calm amidst the heightened tension, but it had its intended effect.

On hearing Carla's voice, Peter looked up, loosening his grip on Frank. He held her gaze, looked into her eyes and saw her plea. He dropped Frank, letting him fall back onto the cobbles, and stepped away from the altercation.

"What's going on here then?" David Platt approached the group from the open front door of No. 8, closely followed by his mother and, bringing up the rear, his big brother.

"What is it, David?" Gail asked.

"Barlow's knocking this bloke about by the looks of it."

"Should we call the police?"

"Nah," David said with his trademark devilish grin. "Why spoil the show?"

Nick was the only member of his family that said nothing; he merely stared at Leanne, barely noticing the commotion at the factory door. She tried not to stare back, but she couldn't stop her gaze flickering repeatedly to his face.

"Count yourself lucky mate," Peter hissed in Frank's face. "I'm gonna let you off this time. But if I ever catch you laying hands on a woman again, especially a pregnant woman, have no doubt, I will kill you."

"Did you say, pregnant?" Leanne asked, staring at Peter in shock and disbelief.

"Who's pregnant?" Gail asked.

"Dunno," David shrugged. "Shhh!"

"I, umm…" Peter glanced at Carla apologetically and shrugged; the cat was out of the bag.

"She's pregnant?" Leanne shook her head as she stared at Peter. "And you knew? And you didn't tell me?"

"I–"

"It's not yours is it, Peter?"

"Lea!" Peter protested. "How could you think that?"

Carla tried to block the bickering newlyweds from her mind and instead focused on the man standing off to the side; silent, watchful. Their eyes locked; Carla knew it was now or never.

"Oh my god!" Leanne suddenly exclaimed, glancing from Nick to Carla and back, the reality of the situation slowly dawning on her. "It's you."

"What's she talking about, Nick?" Gail turned to her son. "Nick?"

Nick swallowed hard. When it came down to it, he couldn't do it; he couldn't deny his own flesh and blood.

"Ah, the thing is… me and Carla… we're having a baby."

Nick walked away from his family and towards Carla, stoically ignoring Leanne's stare that seemed to sear into his flesh with the strength of a laser beam. He couldn't stop to unravel the meaning behind her eyes or he'd never leave her, never move on. So he kept walking until he was standing next to Carla, his hand placed gently on her back, a small show of support.

"Are you okay?"

"Why did you say that?" Carla didn't care if she were okay or not, she just wanted to know what was going through Nick's mind.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"But you said–"

"Forget what I said."

"You mean?"

"Can we go back to yours?" Nick asked. "Talk about this in private?"

"Yeah."

Carla allowed herself to be led away from the factory, away from Frank still sprawled on the ground, dabbing at the blood trickling from his nose and his mouth, away from Leanne staring at her with a mixture of pure hatred and unadulterated jealousy, away from Nick's family, his mum trying to grasp the news that she was going to be a grandmother again, and his brother who was chuckling to himself, highly amused at how events had panned out that evening, having expected nothing more than a boring night in front of the telly. The only person Carla dared look at was Peter. She held his gaze as she walked past; not a word was spoken between them, they just looked.

* * *

Peter nervously stepped inside his and Leanne's flat where she was already pacing the floor. All he could do was wait, and brace himself, for the hurricane that was about to hit him.

She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes blazing, her fists clenched.

"How long have you known?" Leanne's voice betrayed little emotion, but Peter knew the rage that was simmering just below the surface. "And I want the truth, Peter. Our marriage won't survive anything less."

"A couple of weeks." He knew his best chance lay in telling the absolute truth.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"Carla asked me not to."

"I'm your wife, Peter. I think what I want trumps what that slapper wants."

"Hey!" Peter said harshly. "There's no need for that."

"Oh," she whispered, stepping towards him, like a lion stalking its prey. "Isn't that sweet of you, protecting your... what exactly is she to you again?"

"She's my friend."

"Ha!" Leanne scoffed. "Friend. As if."

"What is it you're really upset about, Lea?" Peter successfully flipped her attack back onto her.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you upset because Carla confided in me? Or is it that Nick is the father?"

"Peter, I–"

"Are you jealous?" Peter asked. "Do you wish it was you?"

"That is ridiculous. And insulting."

"Don't tell me you never thought about it? When you and him were having your sordid little affair? You didn't think about setting up home with him? Of getting married and having babies?"

"You're unbelievable," Leanne shook her head. "This isn't about me. This is about you lying to me."

"I didn't lie."

"You kept a secret from me."

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

"Well, I hope that gives you some comfort," Leanne said. "Because I can't even stand to look at you right now. You're sleeping on the sofa."

"Come on, Lea," Peter pleaded with her as she walked away from him. "Don't be like that."

"And clean yourself up, Peter," Leanne turned at the door to their bedroom, her bedroom only for that night. "You're covered in blood. It's disgusting."

* * *

"You sit down, put your feet up," Nick instructed Carla as they entered her flat. "I'll put the kettle on."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Carla said, letting out a satisfied sigh as she sunk into the soft cushions of her sofa and kicked off her shoes. "There's nothing actually wrong with me. Frank didn't hurt me."

"I know," Nick said. "I want to."

"Thank you."

"What's this?" Nick asked, reaching down to the coffee table where a newborn onesie styled like a rabbit was draped. "This is cute."

"It was a present." Carla smiled at the memory of Peter surprising her in the factory with the onesie and matching booties.

"Oh yeah? Who from?"

"A friend."

"Sounds mysterious," Nick said, casting a sideways look at Carla. "Not a boyfriend, is it?"

"Really?" Carla glared at him.

"Sorry, was that...?"

"Insensitive?" Carla asked. "Judgemental?"

"So...?" Nick shrugged, his curiosity still heightened.

"Just a friend."

"Okay, have it your way," Nick said, gazing down at Carla, seemingly lost in thought, until–

"Nick? Nick. Nick!"

"Sorry?"

"The kettles boiling."

"Right, how do you–?"

"Black, no sugar."

Nick returned a minute or so later, a mug of tea in his hand, to find Carla with her head leaning against the back of the sofa, her eyes closed, her breaths slow and measured.

"Carla?" Nick whispered, placing the tea down onto the coffee table.

"Hmm…?" Carla murmured.

"Did you want me to go?"

"No." Carla was adamant. She opened her eyes, resisting the almost overwhelming desire to sleep. "Stay and talk to me."

"Okay," Nick plonked himself down on the sofa next to Carla and twisted his body around to face her. "Tell me, what happened back there? Was that man really attacking you?"

"It was nothing, really," Carla said. "Nothing I couldn't handle. Besides, Frank was the least of my problems today."

"Oh? What happened?"

"My staff, the ingrates that they are," Carla shook her head, "Decided to walk out. Went on strike."

"Strike? Over what?"

"Trust me, it was nothing. Absolutely nothing. They're a bunch of drama queens, the whole lot of em."

"You know, if you ever need any help at the factory…"

"I'll call my bank manager."

"Right."

"So…" Carla said, pressing on before an awkward silence fell over them. "About your big announcement."

"Yeah." Nick took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he studied Carla's features, her face, her body as she lounged on the sofa, the body of the woman who was carrying his baby, his child. "I think, when you first told me, about the baby, I was… a bit shell-shocked to be honest. Possibly in denial. I wasn't thinking straight."

"And now?"

"Now I think I'm ready."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm saying… I'm here for you and the baby. Whatever you need, I'm here."

"You want to be this baby's dad?"

"No, Carla," Nick shook his head. "I don't want to be, I am this baby's dad."


	8. Week 8: Opening night

**Week 8: Opening night**

"You can't do this to me!"

Carla heard Nick's voice even before she stepped foot inside the revamped bistro, his pride and joy.

"But we're opening tomorrow night!"

And there he was; pacing the floor in front of the bar, his mobile pressed against his ear, his brow furrowed in long angry valleys across his forehead thanks to the rapidly rising frustration he was feeling.

"I can't open a bistro without wine!"

Carla walked towards Nick, unsure if he would welcome her in his current state of heightened anxiety.

"Well thank you very much, you've been very helpful," Nick spat into his phone. "Yes, that was sarcasm! … Same to you! … Good bye!"

Nick stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief before turning to Carla.

"Would you believe that?" he said, immediately launching into a tirade against, Carla wasn't yet sure against who. "Gets mad at me when I'm the one that's been let down!"

"What's happened?" Carla asked, suddenly regretting her decision to enter the bistro that afternoon.

"My wine supplier has only gone and went bankrupt!"

"Oh, I see."

"This place is opening tomorrow night."

"I know that," Carla said, pulling her phone out of her bag and placing a call.

"We can't open without wine!"

"I said I know," Carla mollified him before plastering on a smile for the task ahead. "Darling, it's Carla. Carla Connor … Oh, you know how it is. Listen, I need a massive favour … Cheeky! Nothing like that. No, a friend of mine has been let down by his wine supplier, gone bankrupt … You know the place, do you? Of course, you do, you know everyone in the business … He needs everything for tomorrow night. It's opening night … It's a swanky place. Not pretentious. Classy but affordable. That's right." Carla placed her hand over the phone's microphone and whispered to Nick. "He's going to check his stocks."

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? I'm getting you some wine."

"But? How do you–?"

"I know people, Tilsley."

"I bet you do," Nick said, looking at her with a newfound admiration.

"You never know when these contacts will come in handy," Carla said. "You know I was almost a restauranteur at one point?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," Carla mused. "Me and– hold on, so you can deliver in … two hours? Never! That's great, babe, you are a star … It's Nick's Bistro, Viaduct Street, Weatherfield ... I owe you one. Dinner? Sure, lobster and bubbles, whatever you want, darlin'. Okay then, bye bye."

Carla ended the call and beamed at Nick.

"Problem. Solved. You'll have your wine in two hours."

"You are amazing," Nick said, instinctively wrapping his arms around her and drawing her in for a hug. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Hey," he said. "What were you saying before?"

"What?"

"About becoming a restauranteur?"

"Oh, right," Carla said. "There was a time when me and Leanne were going to open a little Italian place together."

"I didn't know that."

"It wasn't one of my finer moments," Carla said. "You think you know someone, but still they manage to surprise you."

"What happened?"

"I found out my husband was one of her clients."

"Oh. Sorry."

An awkward silence fell over the pair as they both regretted raising and pushing the topic. Until Carla laughed; what else could she do?

"Well, that was a conversation killer," she said.

"Shall we change the subject?"

"Please."

"How about we talk about the baby?"

"That's original."

"I was thinking, I want to set up a bank account for– him or her, that doesn't matter. The point is, I want to make sure our baby is provided for. What do you think?"

"I think you need to slow down a bit."

"What do you mean, slow down?"

"I mean, don't get ahead of yourself, Nick. I haven't even had my twelve-week scan yet."

"I know," Nick sighed. "I do know that. I'm just excited. And I want you to understand that I'm serious about being a good father to this baby."

"And I appreciate it, but… one step at a time, yeah?"

"As long as you know–"

"I know," Carla reassured him, placing her hand gently over his and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I know."

Nick smiled, picking up Carla's hand and raising it to his lips, kissing her palm softly.

"You are coming tomorrow night, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That bog's fixed now."

Carla instinctively pulled her hand away from Nick's gentle grip as Owen Armstrong strode into the main dining area.

"Thanks Owen," Nick said before whispering to Carla. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Seeya," Carla smiled at him and turned to walk away.

"I'd watch out for that one if I were you," Owen aimed a warning shot at Nick. "She's a shark, she is, she'll eat you alive."

"Don't worry," Nick said with a smile. "I think I understand her well enough."

* * *

Carla peered anxiously around the crowded bistro; normally, she'd be reaching for a glass or two, or three or four, of wine to get the night's social agenda well lubricated but, in her present condition, that was impossible.

So, she searched the room for a friendly face; she didn't have to search for long.

"Hey," Carla greeted Peter with a warm smile. "I'm surprised to see you here tonight after… you know."

"What? You mean, after I nearly died in here?" Peter laughed.

"Don't try to cover with me, Peter Barlow," Carla said. "You can be honest about how you're feeling, you know."

"I know," Peter nodded. "I guess I'm exercising some demons is all. He–" Peter added, nodding to where Nick was stood, glancing over at Carla. "Is nothing to me. Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Carla."

"Why?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Because he's, you know..." Peter shrugged. "What exactly is Nick to you again?"

"The man who knocked me up."

"Yeah, I know that. But, after last week I mean, things have… progressed, haven't they?"

"He says he wants to be involved."

"Which means?"

"Co-parenting I think it's called."

"So you two, you aren't together?"

Carla leaned in close to Peter, her lips close to his ear, an act of the confidante.

"Do you wanna know the truth about me and Nick?"

"Go on then, enlighten me."

"It's none of your damn business, so stop fishing."

"Fine, keep your secrets."

"I will," she said with a grin. "You are okay, though, aren't you? With being here?"

"Yes," he sighed. "It's just something I need to do, so that I can move on with my life."

"So, life's good then?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "It's… it's better than it was."

"That's good to hear," Carla smiled. "And how's Simon?"

"He's been asking after you."

"Has he really?" Carla couldn't help but smile.

"He wants to know when cool Carla is coming round again."

"Isn't he a sweetheart," Carla said. "Listen, anytime you need someone to watch him."

"Yeah," Peter was unusually hesitant. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's Leanne, she, umm, she wasn't too happy after last time."

"Right." Carla said, not quite able to hide her disappointment. "Well, I guess she is your wife and you have to respect her wishes."

"I'm glad you understand."

"Even if she is being ridiculous."

"Even then," Peter said with a sympathetic smile. "Hey, it looks like you're wanted."

Carla glanced in the direction of Peter's gaze to where Nick was blatantly staring at her, raising his eyebrows and jerking back his head, a non-verbal cue for her to come over to him.

"I'll see ya later."

Carla flashed Peter one last smile before turning her back on him.

"Bye."

Peter watched as Carla walked to where Nick was waiting for her; watched as Nick draped his arm around Carla's shoulder and pulled her close to him, planting a kiss on the top of her head; and then he watched as Nick looked directly at Peter and smirked.

* * *

Carla opened the toilet cubicle door and made a beeline for the basins, flicking on the tap and washing her hands.

"I want a word with you."

Carla swung her head around in surprise to where Leanne was stood, leaning against the wall of the bathroom, her arms crossed and her foot tapping the floor impatiently.

"Don't scare me like that!" Carla chastised Leanne. "You're just lucky you caught me after I went and not before. Do you have any idea what pregnancy does to your bladder?"

"I don't care about your bathroom habits," Leanne sneered.

"Charming," Carla smirked as she dried her now clean hands. "What do you want, Leanne?"

"I, umm…"

"Well? Spit it out?"

"If you insist," Leanne sighed. "Did you set out to seduce Nick to get back at me?"

Carla laughed; if only Leanne knew how ridiculous she sounded.

"Oh, Leanne, you do think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

"It makes perfect sense to me," Leanne said. "The man you want chooses me, so you go after the man I…"

"The man you what, Leanne?" Carla asked. "The man you love? Is that what you were going to say?"

"I love Peter," Leanne insisted. "Not Nick."

"You know what your problem is?"

"Go on, tell me."

"You judge others by your own standards."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Battersby, that I have a less transactional view of sex than you do."

"That's all in the past."

"Yet it seems to have skewed your ideas a bit," Carla said. "Warped that tiny brain of yours. Believing that I would stoop so low as to bring a baby into this world purely to get revenge on you."

"The fact is, Carla, you're an evil bitter twisted old cow. Always have been. And what you're doing, trapping Nick like this, it's– it's not fair."

"Not fair on who, Leanne?" Carla asked. "On me? On Nick? Or are you thinking about yourself? Are you thinking about how Nick won't be around to chase after you anymore? To build up your ego?"

"I'm thinking of Nick," Leanne said. "Of what's best for him."

"Whatever, Leanne," Carla said. "The point is, whatever goes on between me and Nick, it's none of your business. You had your chance with him. And you blew it. You made your choice. Now you have to live with it. Now, if you'll excuse me," Carla said as she pushed past Leanne. "I'd like to show my support to the man whose child I'm carrying on his big night."

Without a backwards glance at Leanne, Carla sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving her rival to silently fume and continue to wonder exactly what was going on.

* * *

After escaping one awkward situation, Carla re-entered the dining room only to walk straight into another.

"Carla!" Gail simpered, walking towards her with outstretched arms. "There you are."

"Here I am," Carla repeated her with a grimace. "What can I do you for, Gail?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Gail said, taking Carla's hand in hers and stroking it with the other. "I just wanted to see how you're getting on."

"Getting on with…?" Carla asked as she peered into Gail's expectant face.

"With the baby, of course."

"There's not really–"

"I mean, I'm sure you've been to the top doctors, got the best advice," Gail nodded along in agreement with her own words. "Now, have you been taking your folic acid?"

"My–?"

"Then there's all the preparations for when baby's here," Gail continued, reaching out and giving a stunned Carla a gentle pat on the stomach. "I can help you out with all that if you like?"

"I don't–"

"Being a first-time mum, I'm sure you've got so many questions, but don't worry, that's what I'm here for."

"Why?"

"Why?" Gail laughed. "Because that's what grandmothers are for, silly."

"Right."

"We'll go out for lunch," Gail suggested. "Just us girls. And you can ask me anything you like."

"Listen, Gail," Carla interrupted. "No offence, but–"

"And the nursery, of course," Gail continued, her enthusiasm unquenchable. "You'll need help with the decorating. I can do that as well."

"Unbelievable," Carla shrugged, talking to herself now, having given up on trying to have a two-way conversation with Gail.

"Will you be staying on at your flat?" Gail asked. "I guess that would be the best thing. And then Nick can move in with you."

Carla glared at Nick who stood by the bar, in conversation with a woman Carla recognised from the picture that accompanied the articles she wrote for the local newspaper; of course the media would be interested in the re-opening of a bar that had so recently been the scene of such death and destruction. He glanced across at her and saw her distress but, unable to escape, merely shrugged his shoulders, a silent apology.

"I've always thought it would be nice if Nick honoured his father when he became a father himself."

Carla stared at Gail incredulously; had she been talking this whole time? Did she ever shut up?

"Brian Tilsley junior," Gail declared. "What do you think of that?"

Carla could barely catch her breath, let alone speak one single word, before Gail continued.

"I think that would be a lovely tribute to my Nicky's dad," Gail mused. "I wish you could have met him, he was–"

But Carla had decided she would not be sticking around to discover exactly what an amazing husband and father Brian Tilsley senior was. Gail watched, open-mouthed and scandalised, as Carla brushed past her and walked away.

"How rude!"

As Carla walked past Nick, she threw her hands in the air in surrender; she cared nothing for the offence she had given, she simply needed to get away from the lot of them.

* * *

"I am so sorry," Nick said as he stood in the doorway to his office, looking down on Carla as she lounged on the sofa, a traditional deep-buttoned Chesterfield in oxblood red leather, an indulgence he couldn't help but splurge on for this, his own private retreat from the hustle and bustle of the dining room. "Mum can be a bit…"

"Suffocating?" Carla suggested. "A parasitic leech?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far but, yes, she can be a bit full on," he said as he sank down onto the sofa next to Carla. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Carla sighed. "I'll be fine, it's just… she was talking about baby names and decorating the nursery and it was all a little overwhelming."

"What name did she suggest?"

"Brian Tilsley junior."

"Oh," Nick said. "Yeah, that's, umm, that's not gonna happen."

"That's a relief," Carla said. "I was worried you'd want something sentimental and, I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, but I ain't the sentimental type."

"Don't worry, choosing names and decorating nurseries, that's something we'll do together, okay? No mothers tagging along, no one except you and me. Deal?"

"Deal," Carla said as she rested her cheek against Nick's shoulder and he wrapped his arm protectively around her. "Hey, I bet this office has seen its fair share of action."

"Where did that come from?"

"I was just thinking about you and Leanne," Carla said, pulling her body away from him and peering into his eyes. "Your steamy affair."

"Why would you bring that up?"

"She cornered me earlier," Carla said. "Leanne. Gave me the third degree."

"About?"

"You and me."

"What did you say?" Nick asked, trying desperately to hide his curiosity.

"I said it was none of her damn business."

"I'm sure she took that well," Nick couldn't help but smile at Leanne's imagined reaction.

"I don't think she's over you."

Nick paused for a moment before replying with an innocent "really?"

"Mmm... yeah," Carla murmured. "Definitely. She was obviously jealous."

"Right," Nick said, his eyes darting here and there as his mind raced.

"Does that change things for you?" Carla asked, unsure even within herself of what answer she was hoping for.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if she's still interested… are you?"

"She's married, remember," Nick brusquely brushed off the inference.

"That didn't stop you before."

"Well it does now. Besides," Nick pushed all doubts aside. "My priorities have changed. You and me, we're having a baby remember."

"Yeah, but we're not together or anything. You're free to do what you want with who you want."

Nick gazed into Carla's eyes. He wondered why she was doing this, why she was pushing him about his feelings for Leanne. Him and Leanne, he had to accept it was over, he had to accept his new life, his new purpose. So, he leaned forward and kissed Carla; a soft kiss at first, then as his hands reached out to cup her cheeks between his palms and he moved his body closer to her body, a passionate kiss, his lips pressed against hers, his tongue sweeping over her lips, and into her mouth.

"What was that for?" she asked him when they finally parted.

"Well, you did say I could do what I wanted with who I wanted. And, when I thought about it, I knew I wanted to kiss you."

* * *

"What's going on here?" Carla asked as her and Nick re-entered the dining room, her gaze drawn immediately to the tense threesome by the far wall.

"Dammit," Nick whispered. "I'd hoped they'd all call a truce for tonight at least. They knew what this night meant to me."

"A truce? I don't–"

"You remember I told you how mum isn't exactly over the moon with David's choice of fiancé?"

"I don't see what business it is of hers anyway."

"That doesn't matter," Nick said with a scowl of impatience. "The point is, I don't want them to make a scene. Not in here. Not tonight."

Nick and Carla both watched transfixed, with an impending sense of doom, as Gail stormed across the dining room floor, her face a curious mixture of dark anger and heartbreak, while Kylie watched her go with a satisfied smirk.

"I hate to say it of anyone, Nick," Gail raged the moment she was in earshot of her eldest son. "But I hate that girl, I really do."

"Mum, try not to upset yourself, okay?" Nick tried his best to placate her. "Or the rest of my guests. Please."

"He can't see that he's making a horrible mistake by marrying her," Gail said, ignoring Nick's pleas. "He should find some nice girl, from a nice family, not from whatever scummy estate she crawled out of. I wish she'd crawl straight back there. She doesn't belong here."

"What does it matter where she's from?" Carla interjected. "As long as they love each other, isn't that all that matters?"

"Love?" Gail scoffed. "That's not love. I'm sorry, Carla, but you don't know what she's like, so if you don't mind keeping your opinions to yourself."

"Oh, is that my name I hear?" Carla blatantly lied in an effort to get away from Gail's venomous tirade. "Do excuse me."

Carla walked away and, having spotted a group of her factory employees grouped around one of the booths, made a beeline to join them.

"Hi there, Mrs C," Sean said as Carla slipped into the booth next to him. "I nearly didn't recognise you without a glass of bubbly in your hand."

"Let me get you a glass, Mrs Connor," Sally offered.

"No, thanks, Sal, I'm fine."

"Oh, come on, Mrs C," Sean pressed her. "Let your hair down a little."

"I said I'm fine." Carla replied brusquely before softening. "I'm sorry, it's this place, it's given me a splitting headache. Maybe later, yeah, Seany?"

"Right you are, Miss Carla."

Carla didn't make any attempt to keep up with the conversation that flowed so easily amongst these colleagues that spent so much of their lives together. Instead, she immediately allowed her mind to wander; from her intimate chats with Peter and Nick, to the confrontation with Leanne in the loos. And then of course there was Gail. Granny Gail. She wondered what Gail would think of her if she knew the estate she had grown up on. Would she be so keen to decorate the nursery with her then?

Carla glanced up at Nick and Gail who were engaged in an intense exchange and then across to the other side of the dining room where David and Kylie were stood, whispering furiously while Kylie shot dirty looks across the expanse at her future in-laws.

Carla watched as David raised his hand to Kylie's shoulder, stroking it softly, in a vain attempt to placate her; she watched as Kylie shook her head, watched as she shook off David's grip, and then watched as she stormed to the bar to confront Gail and Nick.

"What are you saying?" she demanded. "I know you're bitching about me again, you evil cow."

"Listen to me, missy!" Gail protested.

"Mum!" Nick pulled Gail back and turned to Kylie. "Kylie, this isn't the place. Why don't you and David go home and–"

"Are you kicking us out?"

"I just think it's best if–"

"No, Nick," Gail said. "Kylie's right. She needs to hear what I've got to say. Right now."

"Well then!" Kylie crossed her arms and stood, her one hip jutting out as her opposite foot tapped the floor impatiently, and her eyebrow raised. "Do your worst."

"I think you're common," Gail said, suddenly deathly calm; she'd been waiting for this moment, she wasn't going to waste it on blind fury. "And I think you're a gold-digger. You're no good for my son and you never will be."

"Is that it?"

"There's a lot more where that came from, believe you me."

"David!" Kylie called out to her fiancé, spinning around to face him. "Have you heard what your mo– what this woman thinks of your future wife? Hmmm?! What have you got to say about that?"

"Well…" David stammered, his gaze flickering from Kylie to his mum and back. "I…"

"Oh, I see how it is." Kylie stalked towards David, slowly and ever so devastatingly terrifying to the young Platt. "You agree with your mum, do you?"

"Kylie, no, that's not what–"

"Shut up!" Kylie screamed. "All I wanted was one tiny bit of support from my fiancé, but instead you stab me in the back! You know what you can do, don't you? You can… get stuffed!" She spun around to Nick and Gail. "You can get stuffed and all! All of you!"

"Kylie!" David called after Kylie as she stormed from the room. He made to go after her but found his path blocked by his elder brother.

"David," Nick warned him, clapping his hands down onto his brother's shoulders. "Give her some time to calm down."

"No!" David struggled against Nick's restraint. "Let me go!"

"Well!" Sean exclaimed with glee. "I didn't know we were getting a floor show as well."

"It's better than the theatre," Izzy chimed in.

But Carla wasn't so eager to joke about the situation; she slipped out of the booth without a word and quickly followed Kylie's path through the front door of the Bistro and out into the dark night, crisp and clear, as the soft scent of the spring flowers wafted through the air.

Spotting Kylie leaning back against the rough red bricks of the viaduct, a fag in one hand, and a glass of vodka and coke in the other, Carla quietly approached the younger woman, clearly troubled by the nights events.

"What do you want?" she spat as she caught sight of Carla.

"I had this overwhelming urge to get my head bitten off, what do you think?"

"Has Nick sent you? Calm me down? Stop me spoiling his precious opening night?"

"He knows better than to try and send me anywhere. No, I just thought you might fancy a chat with someone, you know, outside of the family."

"She hates me," Kylie launched right into her rant against Gail. "Not that I care what that old bat thinks."

"Really?"

"Well, why should I? She's never cared a jot about me!"

"Because she's David's mum and, no matter how unjust she's being, and I do believe she is, but still he loves her, and he always will. You can't break that bond and you'd be a fool to try."

"Well I love him too," Kylie declared. "Gail thinks I don't, but I do, I really do. I knew straight away that he was the one for me. Why can't she see that?"

"I dunno, Kylie," Carla shrugged. "Mothers of sons are curious beings. They can be very, umm… protective of their boys."

"Oh yeah," Kylie said, her curiosity piqued for the first time. "You talking from experience?"

"I was with Paul, he was my first husband, for ten years," Carla said. "And every single moment of those ten years, his mother despised me. She still does."

"How did you cope with that?"

"Well, they lived in Ireland so it wasn't like I was living with her, not like you and Gail, but those times we were forced to be in the same place…"

"Yeah?"

"Let's just say that copious amounts of alcohol were generally involved."

"Oh my god!" Kylie laughed. "You're serious, aren't you? I thought I was the only one around here like that."

"Oh, Kylie," Carla sighed. "You and me, we are more alike than you'd think."

"How do you figure that?" Kylie asked. "I mean, look at you, with your fancy labels and your swanky car and owning your own business. You couldn't be more different to me."

"It's all front, you know."

"What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, the clothes, the cars, the money," Carla explained. "None of it will ever disguise the fact that I am from the roughest family from the roughest sink estate in town."

"You grew up on an estate?"

"Sure did."

"Which one?"

"Brightwell."

"You never!" Kylie almost laughed, the idea was so ludicrous, that this woman who was so well put together, with such expensive tastes, and refined habits, would come from such a disadvantaged background. "And I thought my estate was bad."

"You see, it doesn't matter where you've come from, it's where you're going that's important. And, if you've found someone you love that you can go on that journey with, you hold onto them, Kylie, you hold on tight. Okay?"

"Okay," Kylie nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"You know, I thought you were a stuck up cow, a rich bitch."

"Gee, thanks."

"But you're alright, you know," Kylie said. "You're the first person in that family besides David to give me a fair shot."

"Hey, I'm not family," Carla protested. "Me and Nick are not together."

"Fight it all you want, but you are having Nick's baby. Which means you're connected to Gail by blood. You're family now. You're stuck with them."

They both laughed at the absurdity of the idea, of being part of the Platt-Tilsley-McIntyre-Roberts clan and felt comforted with the knowledge that they both now had an ally in each other.

"Kylie?" David's voice, hesitant and wary, echoed through the still dark night as he approached the newfound friends.

"What do you want?"

"To say I'm sorry," David said. "For not sticking up for you. You know you're my number one priority, don't you?"

"Hmm… maybe."

"So, do you forgive me? Please Kylie."

Kylie didn't respond with words; instead, she launched herself at him, her arms snaking around his neck, her lips on his, her leg angled around his body, tugging him in close to her.

Entirely forgotten by the reconciled couple, Carla walked away without a word; she knew when she wasn't wanted.

Pushing open the door of the Bistro, ready to re-join the party, Carla hesitated. She looked around the dining room, at her drunk and boisterous employees, and at Nick and Gail, still talking furiously, discussing the drama of the evening, and their contempt for the new admission to their family.

A family that Carla, whether she liked it or not, was about to join forever.

But forever could wait, Carla decided. Forever could be ignored for tonight at least. She let the door shut in front of her; she never went back into that party. Instead, she turned around and walked away; away from the father and the grandmother of her baby, away from the randy couple snogging on the street, away from the family she wasn't quite ready to join.

For tonight at least, she would hold onto her freedom.


	9. Week 9: Walk away

**Week 9: Walk away**

The moment Carla stepped into the Bistro, her senses were overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of the raucous party that was rapidly cascading out of control. Kylie Turner, soon to be Kylie Platt, was stood precariously on one of the tables, her body swaying as she first raised the bottle of lager she held in her right hand to her lips, followed by the glass of what was undoubtedly her usual vodka and coke gripped tight in her left hand.

"Kylie!" Nick hissed at her. "Get down now!"

"Chill, Nicky!" Kylie bawled down at him. "Don't be such a wet blanket! Carla!"

Spotting Carla, Kylie clambered down from the table, much to Nick's satisfaction, and embraced the newcomer, her advanced state of intoxication making her overly affectionate as she stroked Carla's hair fondly and slurred her words up close and personal right into Carla's ear.

"I'm sooo happy you came," Kylie gushed, oblivious to Carla's recoil at the overwhelming stench of alcohol that had hit her like a slap in the face. Is this what she smelled like when she was wasted? Carla thought. No wonder Peter had rejected her advances.

"What can I say," Carla shrugged as she tried to disengage herself from Kylie's drunken pawing. "I never miss an opportunity to watch people enjoy themselves while I'm stone cold sober."

"We can't have that. Nick!" Kylie called out to her almost brother-in-law. "Get my friend here a drink, will ya! Make it a double!"

"Kylie, no!" Carla protested. "I can't!"

"Oh!" Kylie's mouth formed an exaggerated 'o', her eyebrows raised unnaturally high. "That's right! Shhhh!" She raised her finger to her lips as she struggled to contain her laughter. "I know, it's a secret. Shhhh... Right, ladies!" Kylie turned to face her assembled guests, who looked on with amusement, happy to watch the floor show as long as the free drinks kept flowing, and fellow bride, Xin, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere but right there. "Who needs a refill?"

Carla grasped the opportunity while Kylie was distracted to retreat from the heart of the party and join Nick at the bar.

"So," she asked with a knowing smile. "How's it going?"

"How do you think?" he asked wryly as he worked quickly to prepare a round of drinks as more orders came flooding in. "She-" he nodded to Kylie. "Is as obnoxious as ever."

"Cut her some slack, yeah, she's getting married tomorrow."

"Not if mum has anything to say about it."

"What does that mean?" Carla asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Nothing," Nick shook his head. "Did you want a drink?"

"A lime and soda when you have a minute."

"Okay," he said as he plastered a smile on his face. "Be right back."

Carla watched as Nick, ever the professional no matter how trying the circumstances, carried a tray of drinks to a booth of merry diners. She was so engrossed with watching him, of thinking about how steady and reliable he would be as a father, that she didn't notice his mother perch her petite frame on the barstool next to hers.

"Hello, Carla," Gail greeted her, not with coldness, but a certain distance. She obviously hadn't yet forgiven Carla for her perceived rudeness a week earlier at the Bistro's opening night party. "What do you make of all this then?"

Carla knew full well what answer Gail was hoping to hear but refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Young people enjoying themselves," she replied matter-of-fact. "Why? What do you see?"

"I see a girl with no self-respect making a fool of herself."

"Maybe it's time you got yourself some new glasses, eh?"

Gail merely sniffed her derision at Carla's hostile attitude and beat a hasty retreat to where Audrey was ensconced in a corner booth with her good friend, or was it enemy, Carla could never be sure, Claudia Colby, as they made merry with a bottle of Prosecco.

"Right," Nick said as he re-appeared behind the bar. "What was it you wanted?"

"Lime and soda please."

"Be ready in a jiffy," he said as he got to work. "Was that mum you were talking to?"

"Yeah," Carla sighed. "You know, she really needs to lighten up about Kylie."

"Why should she?" Nick asked incredulously. "Have you seen how Kylie's behaving? Mum understandably doesn't want that kind of woman in the family."

"She's having fun," Carla said. "What's wrong with that? Give her a chance, yeah, and she'll fit in with the family in no time."

"What if she doesn't?" Nick shot back. "What then, hmm? David will be stuck with her. We all will."

"Surely that's David's decision?"

"You don't understand," Nick shook his head dismissively.

"Obviously not," Carla said. "I'm not in the mood for this, I'm going home."

"What about your drink?" Nick asked, holding her freshly made lime and soda in the air.

"You have it."

* * *

_Bzzzz bzzzz_

Carla rolled over and pressed her face into the soft and warm embrace of her pillow, trying her hardest to block out the sound of her intercom buzzer before full consciousness took hold of her mind.

_Bzzzz bzzzz_

"Go 'way," she mumbled in vain at her mystery visitor.

The unknown caller, by some miracle, must have heard her desperate plea and abandoned their assault on her intercom, allowing Carla to lapse once again into peaceful slumber.

_Rap rap rap rap!_

"No!" Carla moaned, a desperate sob escaping her lips. The buzzer was one thing, but the banging on her front door, way too close for comfort, she found impossible to ignore.

_Rap! Rap! Rap! Rap!_

"Carla!" A familiar voice called, albeit muffled through two sets of doors. "CARLA!"

Carla rolled over onto her back and stared up at her bedroom ceiling with a sigh.

"Carla!" the voice called again. "Are you in there?"

She had no choice; she'd have to answer the door, if only to save herself from the wrath of her neighbours once morning came.

"Alright!" she yelled back. "I'm coming!"

Slowly, wearily, Carla dragged herself out of the cosy warmth of her bed and shrugged on her robe before trudging out into the open plan living area, padding softly across the floor to the front door.

"Carla!"

"I said I'm coming!"

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Carla peered through the peep hole and into the hall beyond. She rested her forehead on the smooth wood of her front door and sighed, a brief moment of solitude, before she opened the door to welcome her unexpected guest accompanied by what she was sure would be a hurricane of drama.

"Kylie, what are you doing here?"

"Aww, wow!" Kylie gushed, pushing past Carla into the flat and peering about the elevated and spacious room within. "This place is a bit flash, innit? How much are you worth exactly?"

"That doesn't matter," Carla said, hurrying over to steady Kylie as she swayed drunkenly, the room suddenly beginning to swim before her eyes. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not nearly enough!" Kylie declared, peering around for signs of a liquor cabinet. "You got some booze in?"

"No, I don't," Carla said. "Kylie, what are you doing here?"

"Don't you want me here?" Kylie stared at Carla with eyes that, one minute full of bravado and attitude, now brimming with tears.

"I didn't say that but," Carla looked at the clock that hung on her living room wall. "It's after two, you're getting married today, you should be in bed."

"What's the point in getting married when they'll never accept me?"

"They will, you just have to give them time."

"No, no," Kylie shook her head despondently. "They want me gone. Look, look at this."

Kylie shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out a fistful of crumpled up notes, tens and twenties, the occasional fifty pound note.

"Look!" she demanded, holding the money up to Carla's face, not caring that notes were falling out of her hands and floating down to the floor. "This is what they think of me!"

"I don't understand," Carla said. "Where did you get all this money from?"

With a tremendous sigh that spoke of all her perceived injustices, Kylie flopped down onto Carla's sofa, her hands relaxing their grip on the money as it scattered either side of her, temporarily forgotten in her despair.

"My oh so loving future mother-in-law."

"Gail?" Carla was shocked. "Why would Gail give you, how much even is that?"

"Thousand quid," Kylie said. "You know what that cow gave it me for?"

Carla merely shook her head and shrugged.

"To leave David. To leave town. Tonight!"

"She never did."

"She did, the cow! How could she think I'd leave David? I would never!"

"I know that," Carla reassured her. "What are you gonna do about Gail?"

"What do you think, I'm- oh, my head," Kylie moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "It's pounding!"

"You just sit back and relax," Carla said. "And I'll get you some water."

"And drugs!" Kylie called after her. "I need drugs!"

Carla hurried to the kitchen and poured Kylie a glass of water and grabbed a packet of paracetamol from the drawer but, on returning to the living room, found that Kylie had slumped down onto the sofa and was at that moment, she hastened to check, fast asleep.

As quietly as she could, she placed the water and pills down on the coffee table and draped a blanket over Kylie's body, sweeping a stray lock of hair off her face before leaving her to sleep off the booze in peace. As to how restful Carla's own sleep would be, that was very much up in the air as she lay awake for longer than she cared to admit thinking about the opposition Kylie faced when her only crime was to fall in love.

* * *

"Aaarrrgghhhh..."

"How's your head?" Carla asked as she placed a mug of strong black coffee on the table in front of where Kylie lay sprawled on the sofa, the blanket clutched under her chin, a safety blanket of sorts in this unfamiliar environment.

"I'm dying," she moaned.

"Drink that coffee," Carla ordered. "It'll make you feel better."

"Nothing can make me feel-" Kylie froze, her hand outstretched to grab the mug, her eyes darting about the room. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The money!" Kylie exclaimed. "Where's my money? Did you take my money?"

"Calm down," Carla said, reaching over to the coffee table and pulling open one of the inbuilt drawers. "It's all here, it's safe."

"Thank god for that," Kylie breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you'd- forget it, I know you wouldn't."

"Have you decided what you're going to do about Gail's offer?" Carla asked as she sat down next to Kylie.

"Offer? Bribe is more like it. What do you think I should do?"

"Me?" Carla shook her head. "It's your decision, Kylie, not mine."

"Go on," Kylie pressed her. "Humour me."

"Okay," Carla said. "Let me ask you this, what is it that you want, Kylie? Your number one thing right now?"

"I wanna marry David."

"Because?"

"Well, because I love him of course."

"Then I think you've got the only answer you need."

"I know one thing for sure, I'm not gonna let that stuck up cow tell me what to do," Kylie said. "If she thinks I'm gonna give David up, then she's in for one massive shock."

"So you'll give the money back?"

"Actually," Kylie mused. "I've got a better idea."

As if possessed by her idea, Kylie gulped down the hot coffee and grabbed her scattered possessions; her shoes, her bag, her money, and rose to her feet.

"Thanks for the coffee and the, well, for everything."

"Where are you going?"

But Kylie was gone; as abruptly as she had arrived in the early hours of that morning, she now left. To where, Carla had no idea. What she knew for certain was that the day ahead, and the wedding that had caused so much tension within one family, was going to be an event not to be missed.

* * *

Carla, running late as usual, but thankfully not too late for the main event of the day, scanned the gathered guests, the backs of heads and upturned faces, until she spotted him; Nick waving her down to the second row where he had saved her a seat next to him.

"Hi," she whispered to him as she slid into her seat. "Sorry I'm late."

"Don't worry," Nick reassured her. "The bride's not here yet."

"And won't be at all with any luck," Gail interjected from her seat on the other side of Nick.

"Mum, there's no need to gloat," Nick chastised his mother. "David's going to be upset about this enough without you being so smug."

"Well, pardon me for wanting the best for my children."

"What's wrong?" Carla whispered to Nick as Gail crossed her arms and turned to speak to her mother instead.

"I just feel bad for David getting jilted like this."

"It's a bride's prerogative to be late, Nick," Carla said. "It doesn't mean she's jilted him"

"Trust me," Nick said. "It does."

"Why? Because you and Gail paid to get rid of her?"

"How do you know about that?"

"You're not denying it then?" Carla shook her head in disgust. "Kylie only told me about Gail's involvement, but I guessed that someone must've bankrolled her."

"It's for the best," Nick said in a desperate attempt to justify his actions.

"Rubbish!" Carla scoffed. "That was a really cruel thing to do, Nick. I'm disappointed in you."

"What's done is done," Nick said philosophically. "And she took the money, didn't she? That just proves what kind of person she is."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you."

Carla nodded to the back of the room where Kylie was standing, dressed in a very non-traditional wedding dress, a black skirt cut above the knee attached to a corseted blood red and black strapless top, teamed with a black choker and finished with her hair styled in curls and gathered loosely on the top of her head.

"Not too late, am I?" she asked the room with a triumphant smile.

All eyes turned to stare at Kylie as she sashayed confidently down the aisle.

"Looks like a prostitute from the Wild West," Gail remarked, her critical eye sweeping over Kylie from head to toe.

"Well I think she looks great," Carla said, flashing the bride a wide smile as she passed, Kylie rewarding her approval with a cheeky wink.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're involved in this more than you're letting on?" Nick whispered furiously at Carla.

"Shhh!" she shushed him playfully. "The ceremony's about to begin. And smile, Nick, love has conquered all."

* * *

The wedding party descended on the Rovers after the registry office ceremony with one bride and groom at least ready to celebrate their union the best way they knew how; with plenty of booze, a boogie and a snog.

Carla looked on indulgently from her position at the far end of the bar, like a proud big sister almost, as Kylie's happiness shone bright from within. She herself was on the lime and sodas, as was her usual tipple these days, but she certainly didn't begrudge the others for making a night of it.

Kylie, a wicked grin on her face, climbed up onto her chair and cleared her throat, capturing the attention of the gathered guests.

"Right, you lot, I'm putting a hundred quid behind the bar so get stuck in. Before you do, I'd just like to say a huge thank you to the lovely Gail, for making this wedding possible. She were the one who bought me this gorgeous dress. And... she's paid for us to go on honeymoon. To Tenerife!"

Carla couldn't help but smirk at the look on Gail's face as she realised what Kylie had done with her or, more accurately, with Nick's money.

"From the minute I met Gail, she was so warm and welcoming. I knew we were gonna be t'best of friends. She treated me like one of her own. In fact, it don't feel enough to be calling her me mother-in-law, so... Gail, lovely, smiley, happy-go-lucky Gail, would you mind if I called ya mum?"

All eyes flew to Gail who could do no more than smile, embarrassed and confused at this unexpected request, as Kylie continued her bridal speech.

"Aww, thanks. Mum. Sorry, I'm welling up here. You know I lost me own mum a while back and well, I've no other family, so... it means so much to be taken under your wing."

A smattering of applause swept around the room; the people stood close to Gail congratulating her on acquiring such a loving daughter-in-law.

"I'm gonna be straight with you all now," Kylie continued in a serious tone. "There is one person here today that has welcomed me without question, without second-guessing my motives for wanting to marry David. And if anyone's wondering, it's because I love the bones of that man, that's why I married him. But she, I'm talking about Carla over there if you hadn't guessed, because she is the only one in this whole damn family that's got a heart. Besides my David of course."

"Since when was Carla Connor a part of that family?" Norris whispered to Rita.

"Shhhh!" Rita hissed back at him.

"And she gave me the only piece of advice that made any sense at all. You know what she asked me? She asked me, Kylie, do you love him? And that's it, that's all she asked, because that's all what matters. It's love innit. And David, my darling husband, I love you so much."

"I love you, too," David said, his eyes reflecting his words as he gazed adoringly at his wife.

Kylie jumped down from the seat and into David's arms where they kissed with all the passion they felt, flaunting their love for all to see, not caring one jot about anyone's disapproval.

"Urrggghhh!" Norris scrunched up his nose with obvious distaste. "Do they have to do that in public?"

"They just got married," Rita protested. "Let them be happy, why don't you."

"I need a word," Nick whispered into Carla's ear. "Out back. Now."

Carla obediently followed Nick into the rear yard of the Rovers, curious about the sudden urgency with which he needed to speak to her.

He turned to face her, his face solemn, grim even.

"Nick, what-?"

"How could you do that, Carla?"

"Do what?"

"Encourage Kylie like that," he said. "We were so close to getting rid of her."

"No, Nick, you weren't. She was going no where. And you know why?"

"Because she's a gold digger?"

"No, because she loves David. Isn't that what you want for your brother? A partner in life who truly loves him?"

"Of course I do, just..." he shrugged as he struggled to come up with a coherent argument. "Just not her."

"Why?"

"Because she's… common. Her background, her family, everything. She doesn't fit with us."

"Do you think the same about me? Because she's exactly what I was at her age."

"No, of course not," Nick shook his head. "You and her are nothing alike."

"That's where you're wrong, Nick. We are so alike it's scary. I see myself in her, I really do. And if you would only give her a chance, she'll prove herself, she'll fit in, and who knows, you might actually start to like her."

"I've got no choice now, do I? Not now they're married."

"I guess not."

"In future, I would appreciate it if you kept your nose out of my family's business."

"No," Carla point blank refused.

"Excuse me?"

"We may not be together as a couple, Nick, but this baby inside me makes me part of your family whether you like it or not. And even if we didn't have that connection, I consider Kylie a friend, so I will advise her as I see fit."

"Are you seriously taking her side over the family?"

"If you wanna put it like that? Yeah, I am."

With a final look of fury that spoke more than words ever could, Nick turned away from Carla, not trusting himself to continue the conversation. But Carla wasn't finished with him, not yet.

"Is this how you solve all your problems?" she called after him. "You just walk away?"

But Nick didn't answer; he just kept walking.

"No wonder Leanne chose Peter."

Finally, Carla got the reaction she wanted. Nick turned back to face her, his anger replaced now by pure hatred.

"Do not ever speak her name to me again, do you hear me?" Nick's voice was calm, chillingly calm. "If you want some home truths, why don't you ask yourself why Peter chose Leanne over you. Hmmm? Maybe it's because you're right. Maybe you and Kylie are more alike than I'd realised. Common? I think you've proved that today. Money-hungry? That was never in doubt. Fits in with my family? I don't think so."

Carla knew she'd pushed things too far with her dig about Leanne, but something had made her do it, something inside of her that wouldn't be denied. It was nothing new, she'd always pushed people to the edge of tolerance, to the edge of patience, until they walked away, tired of fighting, tired of her. And now Nick was walking away. She couldn't decide whether she was pleased with the result or whether, a much more terrifying alternative, she was disappointed that he, like everyone else in the past, had given up on her.


	10. Week 10: Heart to heart

**Week 10: Heart to heart**

"Knock knock."

Carla looked up and laughed; whatever she had been expecting at her office door that afternoon, a bunch of flowers on legs was not it.

"Is it safe to come in?" Nick asked as he moved the flowers, a garish display of carnations and baby's breath, away from his face on which he'd plastered a sheepish grin.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well," Nick began tentatively. "Last time we saw each other I was kind of…"

"Mean?"

"Yeah."

"So these are, what?" Carla asked, nodding to the flowers in Nick's hand. "An apology?"

"These are the most common flowers I could find," Nick explained. "A fitting apology I thought for, you know, calling you common."

"Thank you?" Carla said with some scepticism. "They're, umm..."

"Ugly."

"Truly horrid."

They both laughed companionably as the tension between them melted away.

"Listen, Nick, all those things you called me that day, well, they're all true."

"No–" Nick tried to protest.

"I am common, garden variety, trust me," Carla said. "And money-hungry? Yes, I am very fond of money, I don't deny it. And as for fitting in with your family…" Carla's voice trailed off as her face twisted into a grimace.

"Not gonna happen?"

"We'll see," Carla said. "You see, Nick, your only mistake was thinking all those things you accused me of were bad things."

"You're proud of being common?"

"I'm not ashamed of where I've come from."

"So, does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Yes, you're forgiven," Carla smiled. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"If you're ever tempted to buy me flowers again, do not, I repeat, do not get me carnations and whatever those white things are."

"It's a deal," Nick said. "Are you gonna give me a clue then? What would impress you?"

"You mean, flowers?"

"Yeah," Nick shrugged. "In case I get the urge in the future."

"Oh, umm... I like flowers that are exotic and extravagant."

"I should've guessed."

"Oriental lilies," Carla said. "Or orchids. Pink orchids."

"Noted," Nick said with a warm smile. "To prove that you really do forgive me, how about meeting up later for a drink?"

"Sure," Carla agreed. "Bistro?"

"Actually, I fancy a change. How about the Rovers?"

* * *

"I got a letter from the hospital today," Carla told Nick as they sat opposite each other, nice and cosy, ensconced in a Rovers Return booth. "Confirmation of my twelve-week scan."

"Oh, that's great," Nick said. "When is it?"

"Not for another two weeks yet, but…" Carla looked uncertain. "I thought I'd give you enough notice, you know, in case you wanted to come?"

"Hey," Nick said, placing his hand gently over Carla's. "Of course, I want to come. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

A rare smile, one of pure joy, spread across Carla's face; as much as this baby wasn't planned and, even if it had been, Nick was the last person she would have chosen for its father, but his commitment to her and the baby, despite a rocky start, made her feel special; wanted, for the first time in years, possibly ever.

"I'm glad," she said truthfully. "Oh, god, what are they doing here?"

"Who?" Nick asked and, as he turned to follow Carla's gaze, groaned in recognition.

"Hey," Peter greeted the pair with some hesitation.

"Peter, let's go," Leanne commanded as her face twisted into a scowl and her arms, acting on instinct, crossed themselves across her chest.

"No, Lea," Peter refused. "I don't want this animosity every time we come out for a quiet drink at our local. Nick, Carla," he said as he addressed the 'couple' in the booth. "Do you mind if we join you?"

"Peter!" Leanne's protests fell on deaf ears.

"Well?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Oh," Carla faltered, looking across at Nick, an unspoken question in her eyes. "I, umm… I guess–"

"Of course," Nick interjected. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," Peter said, sliding into the booth next to Carla. "Leanne?" he stared at his wife, silently willing her to sit down.

"Fine," Leanne rolled her eyes as she sat down next to Nick.

An awkward silence descended over the unlikely foursome; each of them uniquely acquainted with their various foibles and sympathetic or disdainful in differing measures depending on where their loyalties lay.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Leanne sneered. "Peter, can we please leave?"

"No," Peter was firm. "Let's give this a chance. Nick," he addressed the man he had every reason to hate; he still did if he were honest, but his fondness for Carla was greater than his dislike for Nick. "How's business at the Bistro?"

"Oh," Nick was taken aback by Peter's polite inquiries and, while he privately questioned his motives, was willing to engage with the charade. "Yeah, it's been great, thank you, solid bookings, good reaction to the refurb. How, umm, how's the bookies?"

"As good as you can expect in this climate," Peter replied with a non-committal shrug. "You know, with all the big boys pushing online betting, it can be hard to compete. You see," he smiled broadly at the three faces staring back at him. "We can do this, can't we? Be civil, friendly even?"

"Yeah," Carla nodded. "Course we can."

"Definitely," Nick added, grinning across the table at Carla who flashed him a smile in return.

"Lea?" Peter prompted his wife.

"Yep!" Leanne said through clenched teeth as she clocked the silent exchange between Nick and Carla. "So, Carla, how's the pregnancy going?"

"Umm…" Carla shrugged. "Not really much to tell, it's still early days."

"What? No morning sickness?" Leanne asked. "But then, you probably wouldn't know the difference, what with you having spent most of the past year your head down the toilet with a hangover."

"Leanne!"

But Leanne ignored her husband's rebuke. "I must admit I was surprised when I heard."

"Heard what?" Carla asked, her eyes narrow with suspicion.

"That you're keeping the baby. I mean, you never struck me as the maternal type."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, I thought you would've squeezed in a trip to the abortion clinic in-between meetings by now."

"Leanne, stop it!" Peter tried once again to reign in his wife.

"It's okay, Peter," Carla said. "I wouldn't expect someone like Leanne to understand. You see, I happen to think that Nick has had quite enough of women getting rid of his babies. And we all know that Leanne's an expert in that, don't we?"

"You're a spiteful cow!" Leanne spat at Carla, grabbing her handbag and storming out of the pub.

"I'm so sorry," Peter was full of apologies as he rose to his feet. "I better go…"

"Don't look at me like that," Carla said to Nick as he stared at her reproachfully. "She deserved that."

"You know the abortion is a sore point, Carla," Nick said. "For both of us. You were bang out of order."

"What about what she said to me?" Carla protested.

"You didn't have to react."

"What?" Carla couldn't help but laugh at Nick's naiveté. "You expect me to just sit back and take it?"

"Yes."

"You're dreaming, mate."

"Obviously."

They fell into a resentful silence; Nick for Carla's harsh words to Leanne and Carla for Nick's undue concern for Leanne.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

Without another word, Nick rose to his feet and stalked around the bar and through to the Rovers mens room. Carla watched him go with a mixture of relief and regret. It was true, she had been harsh with Leanne but, Carla clung onto the justification as if it were a life raft, the cow had deserved it.

* * *

"Leanne, wait!" Peter jogged after Leanne as she strode down the cobbles.

"Don't you dare defend her!"

"I'm not," Peter said. "It's just, you were a bit harsh on her."

"What did I just say?" Leanne stopped and turned to confront Peter. "Why are you always on her side?"

"I'm not, I–"

"I'm your wife, Peter. I need to know you've got my back."

"You do, Lea," Peter said, his voice gentle but firm. "You do. But you did provoke her."

"Unbelievable."

Leanne turned resolutely away from Peter, refusing to acknowledge the truth in his words.

"Lea–"

"Peter, I feel sick even looking at you right now, so just… why don't you go back to Carla. You two are perfect for each other."

Leanne held her position, her pride not letting her back down until finally, she dared turn around, the silence too much for her to bear. Her heart sank as she watched Peter first approach the door to the Rovers, and then open it and enter without a break in his stride or a backwards glance at his wife.

* * *

Carla drummed her fingers impatiently on the table, glancing across the bar in the direction of the pub's toilets. But Nick did not reappear. If that's the game he wanted to play, Carla thought bitterly to herself, then she would show him that she could outplay him. Snatching up her jacket and bag, she was halfway to her feet when he came for her.

"Am I still welcome here?"

"Umm…" Carla looked up in surprise at Peter. "Of course."

Carla abandoned her plan to flee the pub and sank back down into the booth as Peter sat down opposite her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "About what I said to Leanne."

"Don't," Peter waved away her apology.

"How is she?"

"Angry," he said. "But mainly at me."

"Why?"

"Can we please talk about summat else?"

"Sure," Carla said with a smile. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

His hands gripping the edge of the wash-basin, Nick peered into the mirror, hardly recognising the man that was staring back at him. His face was drawn and haggard; he looked old. When had this happened, he wondered. He let his mind wander back all those years to when he was a teenager, when he was in love with the girl he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. Until she got pregnant and he got scared.

"Get a grip, Tilsley," he chastised his reflection. That was a lifetime ago, ancient history. Him and Leanne were history. It was him and Carla and their baby that he should be focusing on; Carla that he should be daydreaming about. With a deep sigh, Nick pushed himself away from the basin and braced himself to return to her.

Pausing at the far end of the Rovers bar, Nick gave himself enough time to plaster a smile on his face and chivvy his spirits. But, with one glance across to the booth where he'd left her, his smile faded and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists at the realisation that she wasn't alone. He could hear their laughter even from this distance; their camaraderie was clear to even a casual observer, they weren't trying to hide it.

"Almost eight years old and that kid's already smarter than me," Peter said with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, that wouldn't be hard, would it?" Carla joked.

"Oi!" he protested, giving her a playful smack on the arm, his fingers lingering on her skin as he reluctantly pulled his hand away.

Nick had seen enough; he retreated back and slipped out the side door of the Rovers.

* * *

"He's really fond of you," Peter said. "Our Si."

"You sound surprised," Carla said.

"I'm no– okay, maybe I am."

"What is it about me that makes people think I'm not maternal?"

"I didn't say–"

"You didn't have to," Carla cut him off. "Leanne said quite enough earlier. What was it? I didn't strike her as the maternal type?"

"Ignore her."

"But she's right, isn't she?" Carla said. "No one around here would call me a natural mother."

"Who cares what other people think?"

"I can't be that bad though, can I?"

"You're not bad at all," Peter consoled her.

"I mean, look at Simon, he took to me, right?"

"Yeah, he thinks you're great."

"And then there's our Ryan."

"Him too."

Carla lapsed into a thoughtful silence, a scowl marring her striking facial features.

"Hey," Peter grabbed onto her hand. "Where did you go?"

"Hmm?" Carla looked up at him, a question on her face.

"You disappeared for a moment," he said. "Inside that head of yours."

"I was thinking," Carla said hesitantly. "Is that how everyone's gonna react when they find out I'm pregnant? Will they write me off straight away as a terrible mum?"

"No," Peter was decided in his answer.

"I mean, it's not like I've ever had a decent role model. My mum was, well, she truly was a terrible mum. What if I take after her?"

"You won't," Peter tried to reassure her.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you."

* * *

_Bzzzzz bzzzzz_

"Go away!" Leanne's voice crackled through the intercom.

"Leanne!" Nick pleaded with her. "Please let me up, I need to know you're okay. Please."

Nick rested his head against the downstairs door of Peter and Leanne's flat and prayed she would relent and let him in. But his hopes soon faded; not a peep was heard from upstairs. On the verge of giving up and re-joining Carla and Peter in the Rovers, Nick was shocked and secretly delighted to hear Leanne's voice reaching out to him.

"Nick?" her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" he could hardly get the word out, his breath caught in his throat at the sound of Leanne's voice.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes," he answered with confidence this time.

"Come up."

_Bzzzzz_

Nick didn't hesitate, he pushed open the door and bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time and only stopped when he walked into the flat and came face-to-face with Leanne. They stood there, ex-husband and ex-wife and, for the longest time, stared at each other.

"I'm sorry," Nick was the first to break the silence. "About Carla."

"You shouldn't have to apologise for her."

"Well, I don't think you're gonna get one from Carla, so…" Nick shrugged.

"True," Leanne said. "Although I did say some nasty things to her."

"Am I going to get into trouble if I agree with you?"

"No," Leanne laughed. "I just wish, I dunno, that I didn't let her get to me. She just winds me up and I can't help but let my tongue loose on her."

"What is it about her that annoys you so much?" Nick asked. "Maybe she can, I dunno, stop doing whatever it is?"

"It's her face."

"Her face?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Yes, her face," Leanne reiterated. "It's just so… slappable!"

Nick laughed; he knew he shouldn't, that it would only inflame the situation, but really, Leanne was being ridiculous.

"Don't," Leanne warned him.

"I'm sorry, I can't," Nick said in-between bouts of laughter.

"Stop it!" she cried out, although the scowl on her face had been replaced with a smile. "I know it's not rational but, I can't help it, that woman just…"

"I know, I know," Nick soothed. "Hey."

"What?"

"It's nice to see you smile," he said. "I missed seeing it."

* * *

"You really believe that, don't you?" Carla asked. "You really think I'm gonna be a good mum?"

"One hundred per cent," Peter said.

"Even though I'm, ahh… a workaholic, selfish, a borderline alcoholic–"

"Hey," Peter reached out and held Carla's hand in his. "Don't put yourself down."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"You want some truth?" Peter asked. "Okay, well, look at me, I'm a full-blown alcoholic–"

"It's not a competition, Peter."

"Shhh!" Peter shushed her. "An alcoholic, full-blown, a womaniser, well, I used to be. I am also selfish, a little bit lazy, I have been known to set fire to my flat while my son's asleep in bed. Not such a rosy picture, is it now? All those things considered, I should be the absolute worst parent for Simon. But I'm not, I'm the best. And do you know why?"

Carla shrugged as she gazed into Peter's eyes, the passion he felt for fatherhood shining brightly from him.

"Because I love him more than anything in this world," Peter said. "And you, you are going to feel the same way about your little one. As soon as you hold him, or her, in your arms, you'll fall in love. And that's all you need; love. Everything else, all the practical stuff, that'll come with time. As long as you've got love you'll be just fine."

"I already do," Carla said, rubbing her tummy gently with her free hand. "I never thought it was possible but, I love this baby so so much."

"You see?" Peter asked, squeezing Carla's hand that he still held firmly in his. "What did I tell you?"

* * *

"Do you ever think about… it?" Leanne asked Nick.

"It?" Nick furrowed his brow in confusion as he gazed at Leanne while they sat, side-by-side on the sofa, each of their bodies angled inwards a little for this cosy tête-à-tête.

"Our baby?" Leanne said. "The one I got rid of."

"Honestly?"

"Please."

"For a long time, I didn't," he said. "I pushed it to the back of my mind and got on with my life but, umm, I guess the older I get, the more I understand the impact of what happened. On you. On me. Us. So, yes, of late I do think about it. A lot."

"And do you…?"

"Yes."

"You don't know what–"

"Yes, I regret it."

Knowing that Nick thought about their baby, that he regretted the abortion, brought Leanne right back to that time when, at seventeen years old, she thought she'd found 'the one'. Until it all fell apart.

But she wasn't thinking about the bad times when she leaned in to Nick that evening as he sat on the sofa in the flat she shared with her husband and their son. Not the bad times, not her husband, not her son; just the man sitting next to her, the man she fell in love with when he was hardly more than a boy and she a girl, half a lifetime ago.

Looking into his eyes today, she saw those same eyes of that seventeen-year-old boy, saw that same look in his eyes. And today, Leanne felt like that seventeen-year-old girl again, full of romance and idealism, snogging her first true love.


	11. Week 11: Big day out

**Week 11: Big day out**

"How about we go into town?" Nick suggested as he watched Carla absently push the full English around her plate with a fork. "Pick up some things for the baby."

"No," Carla shook her head; she was adamant. "I don't want to get anything until after the scan next week."

"I didn't take you for the superstitious type?"

"It's one week, Nick!" Carla snapped. "Have a bit of patience."

"Woah!" Nick held his hands in the air and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Carla said, her brow furrowed as she tried to shake off her mood. "It's just–"

"Carla!"

"Hey, Si," Carla said, a genuine smile brightening her face as Master Barlow, followed closely by Leanne, hurried to the table in Roy's Rolls where her and Nick were indulging in a weekend breakfast treat. "What are you up to this fine Sunday?"

"I'm going to the seaside," he declared jubilantly.

"Well now," Carla said. "And will you be driving there all by yourself?"

"No, silly," Simon rolled his eyes at her. "I'm going with me mum and me dad and Amy. Dad's driving. And we're going to eat chips and ice cream and play games in the arcade and go on rides and build sandcastles."

"Sounds brilliant."

"Come on, Si," Leanne said, her hands on the lad's shoulder, ready to steer him away. "Come to the counter and order what you want for your breakfast."

"Right," Peter said as he joined his family. "I hope you haven't ordered without me, I'm starving."

"No," Leanne said. "We've not made it that far yet."

"Order me some pancakes, will ya," Simon said. "I'm talking to Carla."

"Don't be bothering Nick and Carla, son," Peter said. "Let them eat their breakfast in peace."

"No," Carla waved off Peter's concerns. "Si's alright, isn't he, Nick?"

"Absolutely."

"Although I get the feeling it's not really me he's interested in," Carla said with a grin. "Not with the way he's eyeing off that sausage on me plate."

"Simon!" Leanne chastised him.

"Go on," Carla nudged him playfully. "Take it, I'm not gonna eat it."

"Ta!" Simon said as he grabbed the sausage and greedily shoved it into his mouth.

"Si!" Leanne cried. "That's rude!"

"It's okay, Leanne," Carla reassured her. "I offered it him. Truth is, I'm not that hungry."

"Are you okay?" Nick asked with concern.

"Just a touch of nausea," she brushed off his question. "Nothing to worry about."

"You should've said," Nick reproached her.

"I said it's nothing to worry about."

"Hey, dad?" Simon asked as he savoured every last morsel of the sausage.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, son," Peter corrected him.

"Dad," he continued the moment he had fully chewed and swallowed the sausage. "Can Carla and Nick come with us today?"

"Oh…" Peter faltered, unsure of how such an invitation would be received.

"No." Leanne had no such qualms.

"Please," Simon begged, his big brown eyes, with all their power to make grown adults crumble to his will, focused on his dad. "Please, dad."

"Well, I dunno, Si," Peter shrugged. "It's a bit last minute. Carla and Nick might have other plans."

"I said no," Leanne protested.

"It's okay, Si," Carla said. "Maybe another time."

"But I want you to come today!" Simon pleaded before turning back to his dad. "Please, dad."

"It'd be a bit of a squeeze in the car," Peter shrugged. "But, if you're okay with that then, sure, the both of you are very welcome."

"Peter!" Leanne hissed at her husband.

"Love, it'll make Simon happy," Peter said. "You know him, he's not gonna let it go."

"Whatever," Leanne rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Well?" Simon asked hopefully, tugging on Carla's arm. "Are you coming?"

"Umm," Carla glanced at Nick who merely raised his eyebrows noncommittally. "If it's okay with your mum and dad then, yes, we'd love to come."

* * *

"You should've said no," Leanne whispered furiously to Nick as they waited by Peter's car that was parked at the entrance to the bookies flat.

"What?" Nick smirked at Leanne's obvious distress. "And deny wee Simon?"

"Don't give me that," Leanne said. "We can't spend the whole day together."

"We?" Nick shrugged. "You mean you and Peter? Or you and Carla?"

"You know damn well what I mean," Leanne sniped. "After what happened between us."

"And what happened exactly?" Nick asked innocently.

"Nick!"

"I don't know what you're worried about," Nick said, brushing off Leanne's concerns. "We agreed it was a mistake, our kiss. Let's just leave it at that, yeah?"

"I don't think you can," Leanne said. "And that's dangerous when we're stuck together all day."

"You've got a mighty high opinion of yourself."

"I know you, remember?" Leanne said. "I know what you're like."

"Leanne, my only concern is Carla and our baby. Anything else…" he shrugged. "Doesn't even register. Not anymore."

"Right, then," Peter said as he strode across the cobbles, Simon and Amy in tow. "Are we ready?"

"Carla's not here yet," Leanne said. "No consideration for anyone else."

"What does it matter?" Peter said reproachfully. "The seaside's not going anywhere."

"There she is," Nick nodded to where Carla was hurrying down the cobbles towards them.

"Oh, joy," Leanne rolled her eyes.

"Is she alright?" Peter asked, glancing with concern at Nick.

"Sorry," Carla said as she approached the waiting group. "Last minute trip to the little girls' room."

"I thought you were looking a little green," Peter observed. "Morning sickness?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe we should stay at home," Nick suggested, his voice low and soothing, as he gently stroked Carla's back.

"Umm…" Carla hesitated.

"Aww, but you have to come," Simon piped up. "Please, you promised."

"Si," Leanne said gently. "If Carla's feeling poorly, then maybe it's best if she–"

"Hang on a minute, you can't get rid of me that easily," Carla said with a forced smile, unable to bear the thought of disappointing Simon. "No, a bit of sea air will do me the world of good."

"Are you sure?" Nick whispered to her.

"I'll be fine," Carla reassured him.

"Why don't you sit up front?" Peter suggested.

"What?" Leanne was taken aback.

"At least then you won't get motion sickness like you would in the back," Peter explained.

"Okay," Carla smiled gratefully at Peter; as much as she wanted to please Simon, the thought of the car journey was making her feel queasy. "Thanks."

"You'll be alright in the back with Nick and the kids, won't you, Lea?" Peter asked his wife.

"It looks like I don't have much choice."

* * *

"Sky," Leanne said.

"No," Simon shook his head.

"Sun?" Peter suggested.

"Nope."

"Umm…" Nick stared around the car, searching for something beginning with 'S'. "How about… seatbelt?!"

"Sorry," Simon shrugged and responded with obvious delight. "You're wrong."

"Steering wheel?" Leanne asked hopefully.

"Eeaaaaah!" Simon voiced the sound of a buzzer.

"Snacks!" Amy declared triumphantly, picking up and shaking the bag of Monster Munch that was balanced on the centre console.

"Uh uh," Simon shook his head smugly. "You're never gonna get it."

"I know," Carla piped up, as she pulled her sunglasses down her nose and peered at Simon over the top of them. "Sunglasses?"

"Nope!" Simon said.

"Simon!" Peter cried out.

"What?" Simon asked.

"No, I mean, Simon is what you spy," Peter explained. "S for Simon."

"Wrong again!"

Simon sat back and watched gleefully while his travelling companions searched every nook and cranny within the car and outside for whatever it was that Simon spied with his little eye.

"Do you give up?" Simon asked.

"No!" Amy protested, unwilling to give her cousin the upper hand.

"Yes!" Amy was drowned out by a chorus in the affirmative.

"Please, Si," Peter begged. "Put us out of our misery."

"Cigarettes!" Simon announced, elated that he had won.

"What?"

"Cigarettes," Simon repeated, pointing to Peter's pack of cigarettes that were perched on the dashboard. "Dad's cigarettes."

"Mate, that don't start with an 'S'," Peter said. "It starts with a 'C'."

"No," Simon insisted. "It's a sss for sigarettes, like sss for Simon."

"Do you wanna explain it to him, Lea?" Peter handballed the grammar lesson to his wife amidst the collective groan that arose at the conclusion to the game, before glancing across at Carla. "You've got all this to look forward to."

"I can't wait," Carla grinned back at him.

* * *

"This is just what I needed," Carla said with a deep sigh of contentment as she and Nick walked along the seafront behind Peter and Leanne and, in front of them, Simon and Amy, who were racing around with all the enthusiasm and energy of childhood. "A bit of fresh air, that salt spray in my face."

"It's not too cold for you, is it?"

"No," Carla shook her head.

"Not too windy?"

"Nick," Carla looked at him reproachfully. "Please don't try and wrap me up in cotton wool."

"I'm sorry," Nick said. "I just want to–"

"Look after me, I know," Carla said. "And I appreciate it. But please remember I'm pregnant, not ill."

"I'll try," Nick promised.

"Thank you."

They walked along in a companionable silence for another minute or so before Carla's curiosity got the better of her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?" Nick turned to her in confusion.

"Is it not weird spending the day with Peter and Leanne after, well, after everything that happened?"

"No."

Nick's answer came way too quickly and with too much assurance for Carla's liking.

"I wouldn't blame you, you know," she continued tentatively, trying to get a feel for how far she could push the subject. "If things were a little awkward."

"They're not," Nick insisted. "All of that, it's in the past, it's done with. I'm not wasting my energy on something that's dead and buried."

"You sound very certain."

"I am," he said. "Where's all this coming from?"

"I dunno," Carla shrugged. "Natural curiosity? Nosiness?"

"That can get you into trouble you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"The truth is, Carla," Nick said thoughtfully. "I've learned from bitter experience that trying to live in the past is a dangerous way to live. For my own peace of mind if nothing else, I much prefer these days to focus on the here and now. And the future."

"Dad! Dad!" Simon turned around from his position at the head of the pack to plead with Peter while gesticulating wildly to the structure that loomed up before them. "Can we go on the rollercoaster? Please?"

"Please, Uncle Peter," Amy added her pleas to the chorus. "Can we?"

* * *

"Me and Amy are going together," Simon declared as he climbed into the first carriage, grabbing Amy's hand and pulling her in with him.

"Peter," Leanne called out to her husband. "You come with me."

"Everyone on board," the attendant cried out as he ushered the group into the carriages, two by two.

"Peter!"

But, in the attendant's hurry to get the ride underway, Carla was pushed into the second carriage with Leanne, while Peter and Nick were together in the third.

"Oh, great," Leanne scoffed when she realised who she was riding with. "I'm stuck with you."

"Charming," Carla said as she twisted around in her seat to flash a smile at Peter and Nick.

"How's your tummy feeling?" Nick yelled out to her. "Will you be okay on the ride?"

Carla merely raised her finger to her lips, silently shushing him, a gentle reminder of his promise not to wrap her in cotton wool.

"Sorry," Nick said, accepting Carla's admonishment with a smile. "Have fun!"

"You too!"

"What was that about?" Peter asked Nick curiously as the carriage lurched forward along the wooden tracks of the landmark ride.

"What?"

"You apologised," Peter prompted. "To Carla just now."

"Oh," Nick said. "It's Carla, she doesn't like it when I'm too over-protective."

"Well, she is a very independent woman," Peter said with a knowing grin.

"That doesn't mean I can't look after her."

"No, of course not," Peter said. "That's perfectly understandable when she's carrying your baby."

"Try telling her that."

"Do you love her?" Peter asked abruptly.

"That's a personal question, isn't it?"

"You slept with my wife, remember?" Peter said. "I think I'm entitled to a few personal questions."

"When you put it like that," Nick sighed before lapsing into a thoughtful silence. "I think I could. No, I definitely could. In time."

"But you don't?" Peter asked. "You don't love her right now?"

"You do know how me and her started, don't you?"

"I don't know the details…" Peter shrugged.

"It started the night of the wedding blessing," Nick explained. "So, you can imagine how we were both feeling, wanting to drown our sorrows, be distracted by something, anything."

"Yeah, of course."

"It's not like we were dating when Carla got pregnant," Nick continued. "It was never meant to be an emotional connection, it was purely physical."

"Right," Peter said, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was headed.

"But that doesn't mean those feelings can't develop."

"I hope they do," Peter spoke sincerely. "I really do. Carla deserves a bit of happiness."

"Even if it's with me?" Nick turned to face Peter and searched his gaze, wondering if finally, they were drawing a line under their long-standing animosity.

"Even then."

* * *

"Leanne," Carla pleaded with the woman sat by her side as they swayed together, first one way and then the other, as the carriages hurtled along the track. "Can we at least be civil with each other?"

"You tried to steal my husband."

"For which I've apologised countless times," Carla sighed. "What else do you want from me?"

"To disappear in a puff of smoke?" Leanne shrugged. "That'd make me deliriously happy."

"Wow."

"You did ask."

"Look, Leanne. I'm sorry for the whole Peter thing. But, that's in the past now, I'm not going to try anything, especially not now."

"Now that you've got your claws into Nick, you mean? Why him? Hmm? What is it with you always going after my men?"

"Nick's not yours," Carla reminded her. "Not anymore."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't," Carla shook her head. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Leanne sneered. "I binned him, remember?"

"That doesn't mean you don't still want him."

"I'm committed to Peter and Simon," Leanne said. "That doesn't mean I'm happy to watch Nick throw his life away on someone like you."

"Surely that's his choice?"

"It's not a choice, though, is it? Not when you've trapped him with a baby."

"I've, what? Trapped him? I didn't plan on getting pregnant."

"Maybe not," Leanne conceded. "But you've used it to your advantage, don't deny it."

"I'm never going to win with you, am I?"

"No," Leanne said. "And you know why? Because I can see straight through you and all of your lies and manipulations."

"That's enough!" Carla cried out. "Enough."

"It's the tru–"

"Stop it!" Carla took a deep breath and turned to face Leanne, who pointedly ignored Carla and continued to stare straight ahead. "I get it, Leanne, you don't like me and you never will. So, I think it best we don't try and pretend to be friends anymore. No more days out, no more cosy drinks in the Rovers. I'll leave you alone to live your life and you do me the same courtesy. What do you say?"

After a moment of silence, Leanne turned to Carla. "It's a deal."

* * *

Nick draped his arm along the back of the seat and ran his fingers lightly through Carla's hair, pressing his fingertips gently into her scalp in soothing, rhythmic motions.

"Oh, that feels good," Carla murmured as she rested her head against the back seat of Peter's car. She'd politely refused his offer to once again share the front seat with him on the drive home, preferring instead to sit in the back with Nick, Amy and Simon, with the latter two promptly falling asleep as the car headed for Weatherfield.

"You seemed a little tense," Nick observed.

"It's been a long day is all," she reassured him.

"How about, when we get home, I draw you a nice relaxing bath and then cook you something tasty for dinner."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course?" he said. "What do you fancy?"

"Umm…" As Carla mulled over her decision, she glanced Leanne's face in the rear vision mirror looking at her with an expression that could only be described as one of hatred. But Carla put Leanne firmly from her mind and focused on Nick. "Surprise me. Just nothing too smelly, yeah? Strong smells make me want to hurl at the moment."

"Your wish is my command."

* * *

"Well," Carla said a little awkwardly, once again standing on home ground. "Thanks for the lovely day, we, umm, we had a great time, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Nick smiled down at Carla. "We did. Come on, you, let's get you home."

"Bye then," Peter farewelled them with a smile, blissfully ignorant of the attack that Leanne was at that moment preparing for him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," Leanne laid down the law with Peter as soon as Nick and Carla were out of earshot.

"Do what?" Peter asked, bewildered at the abrupt change in his wife's mood.

"Force me to spend the day with that woman!"

"But…" Peter shrugged. "I thought we had a good day?"

"You really are clueless, aren't you?"

"What is wrong with you?" Peter shook his head reproachfully at Leanne before turning his attention to the children who had taken their time emerging from the car after their long sleep. "Come on, you two, let's walk Amy back home. Come on, then, watch the road."

"Peter, I'm–" But Peter was already out of earshot. "I'm sorry," she finished in barely a whisper.

It wasn't Peter's fault, Leanne reasoned as she resolved to make it up to him later that evening after Simon had gone to bed. No, it was all Carla's fault.

She peered down the cobbles to where, in the distance, Nick and Carla could be seen walking together, Nick's arm around Carla's shoulder, hers around his waist, her head resting gently against his chest.

The sight of them together, connected forever by the life growing inside Carla, brought to Leanne's gut a growing feeling of unease, of dissatisfaction and emptiness, that, despite her best efforts to control her emotions, overflowed as tears from her eyes that ran freely down her cheeks. Shaking her head as if the action would shake off her feelings, Leanne hurried inside, to the safety and familiarity of home.


	12. Week 12: Picture perfect

**Week 12: Picture perfect**

Nick glanced at the woman walking silently by his side and studied her profile; the sweep of raven-coloured hair across her cheek that bounced lightly on her shoulders with every step she took, the contour of her cheekbone as if chiselled by a master out of the finest marble, the lips, full and set in a determined pout, and the normally smooth brow above immaculately groomed eyebrows, furrowed today with an unspoken concern.

"Are you worried about this afternoon?" he asked her softly.

"No." Carla's reply was quick, the tone final.

"It's okay to be nervous," Nick reassured her.

"Are you?" Carla asked. "Nervous?"

"A little bit," he admitted. "It's natural, isn't it? This is the first time we'll see our baby, find out if everything's as it should be."

"What if it's not?"

"You can't think like that."

"Try telling my brain that."

Nick stopped on the factory forecourt and, turning to face Carla, took her hands gently in his.

"Listen to me, brain of Carla Connor," Nick said, his face suddenly sombre, yet the twinkle in his eyes remained, causing Carla to burst out laughing. "I want you to stop overthinking–"

"Okay, okay, I get the message."

"Stop overthinking things," Nick continued. "And try to enjoy this whole experience. What d'ya say?"

"I can try."

"Good. So, shall I pick you up at, say, two-thirty?" Nick asked. "That should give us plenty of time to get to the hospital by three."

"Actually, can I meet you there?"

"Oh?"

"I've got a lunch meeting in town, so I'll go straight to the hospital from there."

"What's this about hospitals?" Peter asked. "Sorry, I couldn't help overhear…"

"Come on, Peter," Leanne prompted him. "We're going to be late."

"Hi Carla," Simon said. "Hi Nick."

"Hiya, Si," Nick greeted the lad.

"Hey kiddo," Carla smiled at him. "You alright?"

"No," Simon said as he crossed his arms. "I have to go to school."

"Which we're going to be late for," Leanne reminded Peter, to no avail.

"So…" Peter prompted. "You were talking hospitals? Nothing wrong is there?"

"Oh, no," Nick reassured him. "We were just talking about our twelve-week scan this afternoon."

"Twelve weeks already?" Peter shook his head in disbelief at the passing of time. "You must be excited."

"Three o'clock today and we get to see our baby," Nick beamed with anticipation, before glancing at Carla and noticing the expression on her face. "I'm sorry, should I have kept my mouth shut?"

"No," Carla smiled at him indulgently; she secretly found Nick's excitement over the scan, the pregnancy in general, quite adorable. "It's fine."

"What's a scan?" Simon asked.

"Never you mind," Peter said. "Come on, let's get you to school, we're going to be late."

"Am I invisible?" Leanne asked.

"What's that, love?" Peter turned to his wife.

"Nothing."

"What was I saying?" Peter continued, turning back to Nick and Carla. "Oh, yeah, good luck this afternoon. I'll be thinking of you both."

"Thanks, mate." Nick briefly shook the hand Peter proffered to him.

"Thank you," Carla smiled at him warmly.

"Yeah," Leanne jumped in, her voice frosty and her smile forced. "Good luck."

* * *

"Have you finished that sample yet, Sally?" Carla called out across the factory floor from her vantage point by her office door.

"Putting the finishing touches on it now, Mrs Connor," Sally replied in her characteristic sing-song voice as she proudly hand-stitched a cluster of tiny seed pearls in an intricate pattern on the front of a satin and lace bra.

"Give us a look then." Carla strode over to Sally's workstation and waited, her feet tapping impatiently on the floor, while her star machinist finished the job.

"I must say," Sally gushed as she handed the finished garment over to her boss. "It's a very fetching design. I could definitely see myself wearing–"

"What's this?" Carla demanded, holding the bra in the air with obvious contempt.

"It's a… bra?" Sally faltered, unsure if Mrs Connor was asking her a trick question.

"What's this lace trim?" Carla rephrased her question. "It's meant to be charcoal. This is black."

"But Mrs Connor, you–"

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Sally. I want it fixed. Now. I'm presenting these samples at a meeting in, ooh, less than an hour."

"I, umm…" Sally stammered.

"Now!" Carla snapped and, turning on her heel, stormed back to her office, feeling the entire time the laser-like stares of her employees burning into her back.

She slammed her office door shut and, finding herself alone, allowed herself the indulgence of showing a little weakness. As she slumped back against the door and the tears sprang to her eyes, she chastised herself for her unwarranted display of anger. In front of the whole factory as well.

What was wrong with her, she wondered. But, even as she asked the question, she knew the answer; she knew full well what was wrong with her, but she'd promised Nick only hours earlier that she wouldn't allow those worries to consume her.

_Rap rap rap_

A soft knock on the door behind her back gave her the impetus she needed to move towards her desk. As she sunk into her chair, she quickly dabbed at her eyes lest they betray her inner turmoil, and called out "come in".

"Mrs Connor?" Hayley Cropper poked her head around the door, wary of fully entering the boss's lair until she knew it was safe.

"Come in, Hayley," Carla's voice was reassuringly calm.

"I don't want to speak out of turn, Mrs Connor," Hayley began tentatively as she shut the office door gently behind her and stood, awkward and out of place, in front of Carla's desk.

"Oh, come on, Hayley," Carla said. "It's just you and me now, so let me have it."

"The thing is, you changed the colour of the lace trim yesterday."

"Oh."

"You said you thought the charcoal might seem a little washed out," Hayley kindly explained. "And that the black would make a stronger contrast to the purple satin."

"Well," Carla said with a sigh. "Thank goodness one of us pays attention to what's going on around here. Is Sally very angry at me?"

"You know how Sally is," Hayley responded with her typical diplomacy.

"So, you mean to say she's bitching about me to anyone who'll listen?" Carla asked wryly. "Don't worry, I can handle anything Sally Webster dares throw at me. I will apologise as well, I will."

"Is everything alright, Mrs Connor?" Hayley asked. "You don't seem yourself today. I'm sorry," she hastened to add. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's okay, Hayley," Carla said, uncertain of how to respond to this unexpected gesture of… concern, friendship, diplomacy, Carla wasn't sure which of these motives to assign Hayley. "I umm…" Carla desperately wanted to tell Hayley about the baby, about her anxiety over the scan, but something, whether habit or pride, was holding her back. "If you could package up those samples ready for my meeting, I'd be very grateful."

"Right you are, Mrs Connor," Hayley acknowledged the request. "I'll go do that now."

"Thanks Hayley."

Carla watched Hayley close the door behind her with something akin to regret. Hayley's show of concern was the first gesture resembling friendship that Carla had received in the longest time.

Suddenly, she missed Michelle desperately; she missed having that one special friend she could say anything to, without fear of judgement or censure. Just unconditional love and support. She realised with a heavy heart that there was no one left to take Michelle's place.

Her thoughts turned briefly to Leanne but she knew that door was closed for good; they would never be friends again. Not until Leanne could let go of the hurt and the betrayal she felt over Carla's pursuit of Peter. But she knew Leanne, knew how stubborn she could be. Leanne would never let that anger go.

* * *

"Make sure you ask about David's epilepsy, whether it can be passed onto the baby."

"Yes, mum," Nick answered absently as he poured firstly a glass of merlot and then a glass of pinos gris for the waitress hovering on the other side of the bar, ready to carry them to the waiting bistro patrons.

"Are you listening to me, Nick?" Gail asked, clearly exasperated at her eldest and his evident lack of listening skills.

"What?" Nick turned to face his mother, seemingly surprised to see her there, he had paid her so little attention up to that moment.

"I said, make sure you ask at the scan about David's epilepsy."

"What's the point?" Nick shrugged off his mother's insistence. "It's not going to make any difference to us, is it?"

"You want to be prepared, don't you?"

"Even if we could find out today, about the epilepsy, about any kind of disability, knowing either way wouldn't change our decision on continuing the pregnancy."

"Wouldn't it?" Gail was honestly surprised at Nick's assertion. "I would've thought Carla… never mind."

"You're lucky you didn't finish that sentence," Nick's voice became thin and hard at this veiled insult. "Do not judge Carla on what the gossips say about her."

"Believe me, Nick, they've got a lot to say."

"I don't want to hear it," Nick snapped. "I have to go. Now, will you be alright for an hour or so on your own until Cheryl starts her shift? It shouldn't be busy."

"Of course," Gail said. "Don't worry about this place, you just go."

"Thank you."

"Nick?" Despite her insistence he go, she couldn't let him go just yet.

"What?"

"You will come for your tea afterwards, won't you?" Gail asked eagerly. "Carla too. I want to hear all about the scan. David and Kylie are back from honeymoon as well."

"I'll have to check with Carla," Nick said as he shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his wallet. "I'm sorry, mum, I'm going to be late."

"Oh, wait one minute," Gail begged him. "Please."

"What is it, mum?" Nick's patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"I just wanted to say… good luck." With a smile, Gail reached up to take her son's face briefly in her hands and, drawing his face down close to hers, kissed him fondly on the cheek.

"Thanks, mum."

* * *

Nick hurried down the cobbles, glancing at his watch; it was already after two-thirty. As he turned the corner into Rosamund Street, his mobile rang.

"I'm on my way," he said into the phone as he unconsciously loitered on the street, suddenly engrossed completely with his conversation, his destination temporarily forgotten. "No, I'm gonna get a cab and ride back with you. That is alright, isn't it?"

Leanne walked out from behind the counter of the bookies shop and peered through the window and onto the street beyond, watching Nick on the phone before glancing up at the clock. Three o'clock, he'd said this morning. Silently, she padded to the front door and opened it just a crack; she was close enough to hear the words coming from Nick's mouth if she stood really still and listened very carefully.

"What's that?" he said. "The side entrance is the best? Is that right? Not the emergency side but the other side. Okay, I got it. Thank you."

Leanne didn't waste any time; she rushed back around the counter and into the office, her eyes darting here and there, frantically searching for something, she didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but she knew the effect she wanted to create.

Bingo: the kitchenette, a small Formica-covered counter in the corner of the office with an in-built sink, a small fridge underneath the counter and microwave sat on top. The most basic of facilities, enough to make a brew, heat up leftovers for lunch and wash up afterwards.

Instinctively grabbing the heavy-duty stapler off the desk, Leanne faced the sink, her eyes scanning the plumbing setup, from the taps to the spout, undecided on her next move. Stepping gingerly towards the unit, she opened the cupboard door immediately beneath the sink and, peering into the darkness within, gently tapped the water pipe with the stapler.

_Clink_

Nothing.

A little bit harder.

_Clank_

The pipe shuddered but remained intact.

_Bang bang bang_

The pipe bent.

_BANG!_

Water came spurting out from the pipe.

"Carla, are you going to get off the phone so I can catch a cab? … I'll see you soon … me too … bye."

Nick smiled to himself as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and began the short walk to Street Cars.

"Help!" he heard a familiar voice. "Help! Nick!"

Nick spun around; Leanne was racing across the street towards him.

"Thank god you're here," she gasped, grabbing onto his arm, panting slightly from her dash across the street. "You have to come."

"No," Nick shook his head. "I can't, I've got to–"

"Quickly!" Leanne exclaimed, dragging him towards the bookies shop. "There's water everywhere!"

"What?"

"A burst pipe," she cried. "In the office."

"But–"

"Please, Nick," Leanne begged him. "The whole place is gonna be underwater soon!"

Nick had no other option but to allow Leanne to lead him into the bookies.

"Where's Peter?" he asked, glancing about the empty shop.

"At the accountants," she explained. "Come on, it's in the back."

Nick followed a frantic Leanne into the office and stared aghast at the kitchenette in the corner; the floor surrounding it was soaked wet, the leak much more than a light spray now, but a steady stream of water gushing from the bent pipe.

"Towels," he ordered Leanne. "Have you got towels? Tea towels? Anything?"

"Oh, yeah," Leanne nodded and, tiptoeing over the damp carpet, pulled out a stack of clean tea towels from the cupboard beneath the cutlery drawer.

Nick grabbed the tea towels and, crouching down, his head bent low to get a better look at the damage, he wrapped the towels around the leak, in the process deflecting the course of the water directly onto his chest.

"Oh my god!" Leanne couldn't help but laugh at him. "You're soaked!"

"Stop it!" he chastised her, gasping at the shock of the soaking, but she continued to laugh. "I said– you're asking for it, you know."

"Asking for what?"

"This!"

Nick loosened his grip on the tea towels, letting them fall away from the leak and, by placing his finger in just the right place, was able to direct the water spray towards Leanne.

"Aaarrrggghhhh!" she squealed. "That's it!"

Shoving him out of the way, she took control of the leak and sent the jet of water back towards him.

"No! No no!" he protested, looking down at his soaked suit and remembering the woman waiting for him at the hospital. "Stop it! You need to be serious now!"

"I am," she whispered to him, the water dripping from her hair and down her face. Nick stared at her for a moment, at the strand of wet hair plastered awkwardly to her forehead, at the rivulets of water coursing down her cheeks, at the look in her eyes.

"The water main, Leanne," he shook off those thoughts. "Where is it?"

But Leanne merely stared at him, silently daring him.

"Leanne!"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Peter takes care of things like that."

"Think!" Nick insisted. "Is there a cabinet somewhere? Or, I dunno, a tap on the outside?"

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Nick shook his head. "Leanne, I have to go."

"What? And leave me here to drown? Besides, you're having too much fun, admit it."

"I'm not," he protested.

"Don't deny it," Leanne pressed on. "I know you, remember?"

"Leanne!" Nick was getting angry now. "Please think. Water main!?"

"Sorry," she smiled furtively. "I don't know."

_Ting ting_

Nick raised his head, alert; the shop's front door had opened and closed.

"Hello!" a voice called from the shop. "Anybody here?"

"Jason," Nick muttered, recognising the voice. "Jason!" he called out, jumping to his feet and rushing out of the office.

"Nick, wait!" Leanne tried unsuccessfully to call him back.

"Hey, Jase," Nick said, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. "Leanne needs help, mate, help her out, will ya, I gotto go."

"What's…?" Jason shrugged at Leanne as she stood, dripping with water, in the doorway leading to the office, watching with regret as Nick ran across the street.

"You better come and look now you're here."

* * *

Carla glanced at her phone. It was eleven past three. Nick was running late. But thankfully so was the sonographer.

"Come on, Nick," Carla muttered under her breath. "Where are you?"

"Carla Connor?"

Carla looked up at the woman in pale blue scrubs standing by the consulting room door and reading her name off a clipboard.

"My, umm…" Carla scrambled for the right word to describe Nick's relationship to her. "My partner's running late, is there any chance–?"

"I'm so sorry."

Carla whipped her head around at the sound of Nick's frantic voice and felt an overwhelming sense of relief at his presence.

"You're here!" she flashed him an almost giddy smile, the joy at seeing him was so great.

"Of course I am," Nick said, reacting to her smile by impulsively leaning down and planting a soft kiss on her lips. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Why are you wet?"

Nick looked down at his suit, still damp from the leaking water pipe, and laughed.

"It's a long story," he shook his head at the memory. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"If you're both ready?" the sonographer reminded them of her presence. "Would you like to follow me?"

"Hey," Carla asked Nick as they followed the sonographer into the consulting room. "Are you okay? You seem a bit, I dunno, frazzled."

"Me?" Nick considered her question seriously for a moment; there was still so much to understand about his and Leanne's interaction that afternoon, but there was one thing he was sure of. "Yeah, I'm great now that I'm here."

"If you can pop up on the bed here," the sonographer instructed Carla. "And we can get started."

* * *

Carla felt like laughing at the strange sensation of the transducer sliding over the cool gel that the sonographer had spread over her belly as the woman tried to get the wand in the right position to see her baby. Instead, she grabbed hold of Nick's hand and smiled up at him.

Feeling her warm hand in his, Nick glanced away from the screen that had, up to that moment, been holding all of his attention, and looked down into Carla's eyes. She looked so innocent and vulnerable, he thought, the way she was gazing up at him. He wanted to say something to encourage her, but instead blurted out the first thought that entered his mind.

"Mum's invited us over for our tea tonight."

Carla couldn't keep the laughter at bay this time and burst into an uncontrolled peal, her whole body shaking as the tension ebbed away.

"Sorry," she said apologetically to the sonographer. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she smiled indulgently at Carla. "Whatever makes you nice and relaxed."

"You're getting me into trouble," Carla grinned up at Nick.

"I thought I already had?" Nick replied cheekily. "So, tonight? Tea at mums?"

"We'll see, yeah?" Carla wasn't ready to commit just yet. "Until we know… you know."

"I know," Nick nodded. "Whatever you want."

"There we go," the sonographer announced. "There's your baby."

Carla and Nick both looked up at the screen in wonder, gazing at their baby, at the various parts that made up the whole; the head, the arms and legs, the round little belly.

"Oh, Nick," Carla gasped. "Look at it, it's…" but Carla couldn't find the words to explain what she was feeling.

"Perfect," Nick finished her thought.

"Yeah," Carla tore her gaze away from her baby to look briefly into Nick's eyes. Both sets of eyes, those of the mother and the father, were blurred with the tears that would come unbidden but not unwelcome at the sight of the new life they had created together. Nick kissed her forehead softly as they both returned their gaze to the screen.

"Baby's got your nose," Nick observed.

"How can you tell?" Carla asked.

"Look at that profile," Nick said. "It's a strong profile, just like yours."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Is it a good thing if our baby looks like you?" Nick laughed. "If it does, it'll be the second most beautiful person on this whole entire planet. And, just in case you're wondering, it's mother would be first."

"You're so cheesy."

"Correct," Nick smiled. "Doesn't make it untrue though, does it? Hey, do you see anything of me?"

"Umm…" Carla stared at the screen, from the baby's head and all the way down to its little legs tucked up nice and cosy close to its body. "Legs."

"Legs?"

"Long and lanky," she said. "Look at them, imagine them all stretched out. Runners legs, I reckon. Just like daddy."

"Or a models," Nick suggested. "Like mummy."

"As long as baby is healthy," Carla said. "That's all that matters to me."

"And me."

* * *

"Hey," Nick grabbed gently onto Carla's arm as she reached out to ring the bell. "Before we go in."

"What?"

"The thing is," Nick faltered as he skimmed his fingers lightly down her arm and held her hand softly in his. "I've been thinking."

"That's a dangerous habit," Carla joked, a vain attempt to deflect from the suddenly sombre atmosphere.

"Stop it," Nick gently chastised her. "I'm being serious."

"Sorry," she said. "Go on."

"I've been thinking about us."

"Us?" Carla's heart started to beat a little bit harder and a little bit faster.

"About our future," Nick continued, his confidence and belief in what he was saying growing stronger with every word. "Not just as parents to this little one," he patted her tummy gently. "But as… a couple."

"Umm…" Carla was lost for words.

"We've been dancing around this for weeks," Nick said. "A kiss here and a kiss there and then nothing. I want more."

"Do you mean?"

"I mean I want us to be a proper couple," Nick confirmed. "Give it a proper shot."

"Listen, Nick, you know you don't need to say these things," Carla tried to give Nick an out before he found himself in too deep. "We don't need to be a couple to raise a baby together."

"I know," Nick said. "Of course, I know that. Today, well it's made everything crystal clear to me. I want to, because I want you."

Nick stared intently into Carla's eyes, trying desperately to read them, to read her.

"So?" he asked, suddenly nervous about her answer. "What are you thinking?"

"Here you are," Gail exclaimed as she opened the front door of Number 8. "Are you two coming in or not?"

Nick shrugged at Carla, silently pleading with her for an answer, a sign of some kind that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was only in this moment when everything was in doubt that he realised just how much he wanted her.

"Well?" Gail asked impatiently. "You're letting all the heat out."

"Yeah," Carla said, forcing a smile onto her face as she turned to face Gail. "Let's get inside."

"Carla," Nick tried to hold her back.

"We'll talk about it later," she promised him. "For now, just smile and act normal."

"They were standing on the doorstep in the cold," Gail announced as she ushered Nick and Carla into the living room where David and Kylie were idling away the evening on the sofa.

"Finally," David cried. "I'm starving!"

"Welcome back from honeymoon you two," Carla greeted the couple with a warm smile. "How was it?"

"Oh, it was brill," Kylie gushed. "Could've easily stayed there forever me."

"I wish you had of," Gail interjected sourly. "Anyway, I've invited Nick and Carla around to talk about their scan this afternoon, not to hear more lurid tales about you lazing about on the beach all day and getting drunk all night. Well?" she turned to Nick. "How did it go? Was everything okay with the baby?"

"Nick?" Carla looked at Nick, prompting him to talk; she knew he was about to burst with excitement. "Do you wanna…?"

Nick stared at the expectant faces of his family, from his mother, with her enthusiasm that at times suffocated him, to his brother's detached concern. And then there was Kylie, not his biggest fan, neither was he hers, but still she was curious about the baby, this new addition to the family.

"It went really well," he beamed at them, proud of the little family he was creating. "Didn't it?" he turned to look at Carla.

"Yeah," Carla nodded in agreement. "Everything's coming along just nicely."

"The baby was measuring right?" Gail asked.

"Yes."

"There were no obvious deformities?" David drawled.

"David!"

"And?" Gail asked, impatient to see her grandchild. "Did you get a print out? Of the scan?"

"What?" Nick couldn't help but tease his mum. "You wanna see a picture?"

"Nick!"

"Okay," Nick said as he pulled the printed scan image out of his pocket and passed it to his mum. "There you go, grandma."

"Aww," Gail's smile widened as she gazed at the image. "Look at it, the little arms, and the little legs. Oh, Nicky."

"Give us a look then," Kylie huddled in close to Gail and looked at the photo. "Come on, Uncle David, get off your backside and check out your niece or nephew."

"Alright, let's have a look." David hauled himself off the sofa and joined the huddled pair. "That's well mad, innit," David couldn't help but smile. "It's a real baby in there."

"Did they give you a due date?" Gail asked.

"Seventh of November," Nick said matter-of-fact. "Our very own Valentines baby."

"Do you mean to say," Gail began with a knowing grin. "That this baby was conceived on Valentine's Day?"

"Umm…" Nick glanced at Carla. "Yeah."

"Nick!" Carla gasped in protest.

"I'm sorry, but it's not too difficult for them to count back from November seventh, is it, and figure out when we, you know."

"Eww," David grimaced. "Too much information, bro."

"I think it's dead romantic," Kylie said.

"Me too," Gail for once agreed with her daughter-in-law. "And I'm so pleased for you, for both of you, that everything went well today."

"Thanks, mum," Nick smiled at Gail.

"Yeah, thanks," Carla added. "We, umm, we thought–"

"Actually, it was all Carla's idea," Nick interjected.

"What was Carla's idea?" Gail asked.

Carla pulled out another copy of the scan photo and handed it over to Gail.

"For me?"

"Well, you are grandma," Carla said.

Gail flung herself at Carla, wrapping her in a tight embrace, welcoming her – literally – into the bosom of her family, this woman that was giving her Nicky something so very precious.

"Thank you," Gail sobbed into Carla's shoulder. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," Carla brushed off her thanks, glancing at Nick over Gail's shoulder, unsure of how to disentangle herself. But Nick's look of genuine happiness at witnessing her and his mother getting along made her hold on that little bit longer. Seeing that smile on Nick's face was worth a few more seconds of awkward hugging with her baby's grandmother.

* * *

"Do you fancy a brew?" Nick asked Carla as she kicked off her shoes and sunk into the plush cushions of her sofa, finally able to relax after a long day.

"Yes, please," she sighed, watching lazily as Nick filled and flicked on the kettle and wandered into the living room to join her. "I am so relieved today is over."

"Yeah, me too."

"You?" Carla asked incredulously. "You were so calm and collected. I felt like a right mess next to you."

"On the surface maybe," he conceded. "But underneath, I was like a swan, paddling like mad."

"It all feels more real now, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "I guess it does."

"I feel like, I dunno, it's safe to start dreaming," Carla confessed. "About life with a baby. This baby. About the future."

"Speaking of which."

"Oh," Carla said with an awkward grin. "I was wondering when you were going to bring that up again."

"You did leave me hanging," Nick grimaced. "There on my mother's doorstep."

"You took me by surprise," Carla said. "I needed time to think."

"And have you?" Nick asked hopefully. "Thought about it?"

"No."

"Ah," Nick was taken aback. "How much time do you think you'll need?"

"I don't need to think about it."

"What–?"

Carla kissed him then, full on the lips, a kiss not for co-parents, but a kiss for lovers only.

"Does that answer your question?"

"More than."

"Good," Carla said. "Now, switch that kettle off, I don't want a brew no more."

"What do you want?"

"For you to take me to bed."


	13. Week 13: Deal with the devil

**Week 13: Deal with the devil**

"Another?"

"Glass of red, please," Carla placed her order with more hope than expectation. "Make it a large one."

Nick merely raised an eyebrow and grinned at her from the other side of the bistro bar.

"Fine," Carla sighed as she reluctantly revised her order. "Lime and soda."

"Coming right up, madam," Nick said, flashing her a smile as he began to fix her drink. "You fancy anything to nibble on? Some olives maybe?"

"Ooh, no," Carla screwed up her nose in distaste. "I don't like olives. You gonna get a dinner break soon?"

"Umm…" Having finished Carla's drinks order, Nick glanced about the dining room. "Maybe if this rush dies down. I'm sorry, I have to–"

"Go," Carla waved him off to deal with a very large and very boisterous party that was dominating the dining room. She slumped over the bar, her elbow propped on it and her chin resting on her hand as the other reached out and dragged the lime and soda across the polished surface towards her, all the while questioning her decision to come to the bistro that night. I should probably go home, she thought to herself, doubting whether Nick would have any time at all to pay her some attention.

"You billy no mates tonight?"

At the sound of Peter's voice, Carla instinctively sat up, her back straight, on the barstool and, plastering a smile on her face, turned to where he and Leanne had just entered the bistro.

"Peter, hi," she welcomed him with a smile, adding a civil "Leanne" as an afterthought.

"You on your own?"

"No," Carla shook her head, her smile widening to a broad grin and her eyes sparkling as she broke the news. "Actually, I'm spending time with my boyfriend."

"What?" Leanne let out a snort of laughter and looked around derisively. "That would be your imaginary boyfriend, would it?"

"I'm very real, don't you worry about that," Nick made a point of kissing Carla briefly but tenderly on the lips as he arrived back at the bar. "Table for two?" he asked the newcomers.

"Do you mean to say that you two…?" Peter looked from Carla to Nick and back again, as his gaze rested on her countenance.

Nick glanced quickly at Carla and, receiving the slightest of nods, confirmed to them that "Yes, we are officially together. A couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend. However you want to describe it."

"That's…" Peter searched Carla's face, her smile, her questioning eyes as they stared back at him. "Great. Isn't that great, Lea?"

"Yeah." Feeling her husband's inquiring gaze switch to her, Leanne hitched a smile on her face and repeated Peter's platitudes. "That's great."

"Hey," Nick nudged Carla. "Have you shown them the scan photo yet?"

"Oh, Nick, no," Carla tried to brush it off. "They don't want to see that."

"No," Peter protested. "I'm dying to have a look."

Secretly pleased, Carla pulled the scan photo from her handbag and proudly showed it off to Peter and Leanne. Peter huddled close to Carla, pulling Leanne in with him, and oohed and aahed over the image to such an extent so as to satisfy even Nick's paternal pride. Leanne merely stared at the photo in silence, her thoughts and feelings internalised behind a mask of polite indifference.

* * *

"Orange juice, please, and a large glass of white, ahh, sauv blanc," Peter ordered from the bartender. "I'm really pleased," he whispered to Carla, who was still sat on her barstool, still waiting for Nick to take a dinner break. His voice was low and hoarse, catching in his throat as he gazed at Carla, glowing with happiness, he thought to himself. "That you and Nick are making a go of it. He's a lucky man."

"I'm lucky too," Carla murmured.

"I mean it," Peter said. "After everything, you know, it, umm… it's nice to see you happy."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course," Peter said. "It's all I've ever wanted for you. Just because… it's what you deserve."

Leanne looked up from the dining table, wondering what was keeping Peter. There he was, standing at the bar, two drinks in front of him but, instead of carrying those drinks back to her, his wife, he was staring into Carla's eyes and she his. Leanne instinctively looked away, unable to shake the feeling that she was intruding on an intimate moment between the pair at the bar.

"There you go, love." Peter placed the wine in front of Leanne a few moments later and sat down in his place opposite her. "You alright? Lea?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," Peter shrugged. "You just seem a little… not yourself."

"Actually," Leanne looked him straight in the eye, deciding in the moment to reveal the thoughts that had been churning through her mind for weeks now. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, racking his brain for something he'd done, anything that Leanne could've taken offence at. "What's that?"

"I was thinking," Leanne swallowed hard, suddenly nervous about Peter's reaction. "That we could start trying for a baby."

"I'm sorry?" Peter blinked at her, temporarily dumbfounded by her suggestion.

"I said, I think we should have a baby."

Peter stared at her incredulously, struggling to understand; and then he laughed, he laughed so hard that his whole body shook and his face crinkled with the waves of pure glee coursing through him.

"That's a good one," he cackled. "Oh, you almost had me there."

"I'm serious, Peter." Leanne reached across the table and, placing her hands gently over Peter's, looked him in the eye and earnestly plead her case. "I think we're in a good place right now and it's what we both want, isn't it? To start a family?"

"We've already got a family," Peter reminded her tersely, his good humour now long gone. "Remember Simon?"

"You know what I meant."

"It's too soon," Peter shut her down, or at least he tried to.

"Too soon?" Leanne's eyes narrowed as she tried to understand Peter's hesitation. "What do you mean too soon? Too soon after what? The blessing? Nick?"

"Dunno, yeah, maybe," Peter shrugged. "Don't forget, Lea, I had a major relapse less than six months ago."

"I know that, but you're better now."

"I'm sorry, but the answer's no. We're not ready."

"Peter," Leanne appealed to him. "Look at me, please." She placed a finger under his chin and raised his face so that his eyes were looking directly into hers. "If I ask you a question, I need you to be honest with me. Okay?"

Peter nodded, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, his tongue sweeping nervously over his parched lips.

"Do you trust me?"

Peter dropped his gaze, his focus fixed firmly on a splodge of sauce despoiling the crisp white tablecloth, as if by staring at it he would miraculously cleanse it and return it to its pristine condition.

"Peter."

But Peter refused to look at his wife; how could he confess to her that she was right, he didn't trust her, not completely.

"Right, I've got my answer."

Finally, Peter looked up, only to find Leanne on her feet and walking away from him.

"Lea!" he called out after her. "Leanne!"

She looked over her shoulder, looked at him pleading with her not to go, but merely barked "Go to hell" before slamming open the door of the bistro and disappearing into the night.

From her vantage point at the bar, from where she'd witnessed the altercation between husband and wife, Carla rose to her feet and quietly approached Peter.

"Tell me to get lost if you want," she said. "But it looks like you could do with a friendly ear?"

"Go on," Peter sighed. "Sit down."

* * *

"You can't have a successful marriage without trust," Carla said, her body leaning forward in her chair, her hands clasped together on the table as she whispered her counsel to Peter. "Believe me. I've been there more than once."

"I want to trust her," he said. "I want it to be like before. But I can't force it, can I?"

"No," Carla shook her head. "It's not sustainable, though, living like that. And it's not fair, on either of you."

"Do you ever worry about Nick?"

"Nick?" Carla asked in surprise. "In what way?"

"If he still has feelings for Leanne."

"No."

"He was completely obsessed with her," Peter's upper lip curled with disdain at the memory of that awful discovery. "Shoved me off the wagon so he could get her. You don't just switch off those kinds of feelings."

"You could say the same thing about me trying to get you," Carla shrugged. "Do you think I still have feelings for you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Nick has never done anything while we've been together that would give me cause to doubt him."

"That you know of."

"Ooh, no no no!" Carla shook her head. "That's a dangerous path to go down. And I refuse to condemn a man just because I'm paranoid about his ex."

"So," Peter shrugged. "What are you saying? I should just forget my doubts and agree to have a baby?"

"I'm saying be honest with her about how you feel."

"And if she can't accept that?"

"Then maybe you're married to the wrong woman."

* * *

Leanne raised her hand and slid the key into the lock. But she didn't twist the key, she didn't open the door, she couldn't. Her mind was on the man she'd left sitting on his own in the bistro. He should be here with her now, coming home together after a pleasant meal in their local restaurant. Going upstairs, going into their bedroom, making a baby. A baby that he didn't want. For good reason, she shrugged. She couldn't deny it; she'd thrown away his trust like it was a piece of rubbish and she needed to earn it back. She thought she had; obviously, she was wrong.

She pulled the key out of the lock and, turning her back on the comforts within, strode down the cobbles on a mission to make peace with her husband and bring him home. By the time she'd arrived at the bistro for the second time that evening, a smile had replaced the scowl on her face as she thought about making it up with Peter, making things right between them.

As she pushed open the door, her eyes went immediately to the table she'd shared with Peter that evening but, at the sight of who he was now sharing that table with, she froze. She watched from the doorway as Peter and Carla whispered to each other, their heads leaned in close together, their hands on the table, their fingers within centimetres. If only he would extend his finger just a tiny bit, he would be touching her.

After the shock of seeing that woman once again all over her husband had worn off, Leanne became aware of a new sensation; a sensation that she was being observed. She glanced up at the bar; Nick was watching her intently, waiting for a reaction.

She determined she wouldn't give him the satisfaction; he would find no ally in his condemnation of the pair at the table, not tonight. She stepped back from the door and let it glide shut.

* * *

A myriad of thoughts were tumbling through Nick's mind at a rate of knots as he walked in silence by Carla's side the next morning. He was struggling to make sense of those thoughts, wondering and second-guessing what every word, every look had meant. But he had to break the silence and say something, he couldn't let this go on any longer. Not least because they were almost at their destination.

"You and Peter were having quite the cosy chat last night." He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice was thin and strained.

"Is this what you were sulking about last night?" Carla asked, turning her gaze on him, scrutinising him.

"I wasn't–"

"You were sulking from the moment we left the bistro last night."

"Do you blame me?" he asked, giving up any pretence that he wasn't bothered by what he'd witnessed. "When my girlfriend, my pregnant girlfriend no less, has an intimate conversation with the man she very recently professed to love, right in front of my eyes as if I didn't even exist?"

"Seriously?" Carla raised an eyebrow as she glared at Nick. "If I was going to cheat on you – which I'm not, by the way, I wouldn't be stupid enough to do it right in front of you, would I?"

"What was last night then?"

"You know what last night was," Carla cried in frustration. "You saw what happened. You saw Leanne storm out. So I, as a friend and nothing more, lent Peter a shoulder to cry on."

"As a friend?" Nick asked warily.

"Nothing more."

"So, I blew it out of all proportion?"

"Big time," Carla said. "And you know what else you did?"

"What?"

"You missed out."

"On what?"

"You know, I'd never believed it before," Carla was deliberately, and infuriatingly according to Nick, cryptic. "I'd read about it obviously but I was still surprised when it happened to me."

"Will you please put me out of my misery," Nick begged her.

"I think it's something to do with the hormone levels when you're pregnant."

"What has?" Nick's frustration was growing at an exponential rate.

"The increased libido."

"Oh," Nick sighed as the full understanding of what Carla had been hinting at dawned on him.

"I was planning this big seduction and everything," Carla purred. "A night you wouldn't forget in a hurry."

"Maybe, umm, maybe we could try for a repeat tonight?" Nick asked hopefully.

"Hmm…" Carla made a show of considering him, looking him up and down, and weighing up her options. "If you behave yourself."

"Trust me, I'll be on my best behaviour– dammit!"

"What now?"

"I just remembered," he sighed. "Mum's invited us round for tea tonight."

"Oh no."

"I can tell her no if you don't fancy it."

"Do you mind?" Carla asked. "I'm not used to all this cosy domesticity with the in-laws."

"Out-laws more like it," Nick said with a smirk. "Don't worry, I'll talk to her."

"Thank you."

"So, a quiet night in then?"

"Yes, please."

As Nick leaned down and kissed Carla goodbye, his doubts over her and Peter's connection completely forgotten, a cacophony of catcalls and whistles came from the factory steps where Carla's workforce were huddled together waiting for her arrival.

"I'll see you tonight," Nick whispered before hurrying towards the bistro, leaving Carla to face the expected cross-examination from her staff on her own.

"Mrs C," Sean called out to her. "Is there something you wanted to tell us?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Carla shrugged, deciding to play the innocent.

"You and Mr Tilsley and the tongue you just had down his…"

"Oh," Carla said, a cheeky grin playing on the corners of her mouth. "You mean me and Nick? Keep up, Seany, that's old news."

"Well, pardon me for breathing."

"I think the gossip you're after is that me and Nick… we're having a baby."

Carla's announcement had finally succeeded in what she had been attempting to do for years; silence her workforce. But of course the shock would wear off and the questions would begin.

"You're pregnant!?"

"That's right," Carla grinned. "Twelve weeks gone."

"Congratulations, Mrs Connor."

"Thank you," Carla smiled. "Really, thank you. Now that we've got the morning news headlines out of the way, is there any chance you can save this little tidbit to chew over on your tea break and get on with your work?"

* * *

Carla strode across the factory forecourt, her phone pressed to her ear, her eyes darting up and down the street.

"If you keep going," she spoke with heightened levels of frustration, barely concealing her anger, into the phone. "No, past there … keep going until after the brewery, take the first right … Coronation Street is the second on the left … I'll be waiting outside." Carla ended the call with a muttered "flaming useless" insult that drifted away down the street, while another voice rose up to greet her.

"You can stuff your job and all!" Kylie screamed at the door to Audrey's salon as she staggered onto the street. "You old… witch!"

As Kylie began to pace up and down the pavement outside the salon, Carla hurried down to meet her.

"Hey," she greeted her almost, kind of, sister-in-law with a friendly smile. "What's up? I could hear you all the way down at Underworld."

"It's her!" Kylie sneered, nodding to the salon.

"Who? Audrey?"

"Me and David," Kylie explained. "We've got ideas for that place, to make something of it, you know, drag it into the twenty-first century, but will that old bat give us the time of day? Will she heck!"

"It is her business," Carla shrugged. "She's been working at it a long time."

"Perfect time for her to retire then, innit," Kylie said. "The thing that gets me right, is she just shrugs me off like I'm nothing, won't even listen to my ideas. I bet she'd never talk to you like that."

"Oh, I don't know."

"She wouldn't," Kylie insisted. "Because you're this high-powered successful businesswoman and I'm… I'm nothing to her, to all of 'em!"

"I'm sure that's not the case," Carla couldn't quite sell her assurances, knowing that they were most likely untrue, what with her knowledge of the Platt family views on their most recent addition. "Listen, once you've cooled down, go back inside, talk to Audrey about how you feel– calmly mind you."

"It's too late for that," Kylie shook her head.

"Why? What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?" Kylie snapped, always on the defensive.

"Because I know you, Kylie."

"Alright," Kylie shrugged. "Yeah, I did do something. I quit."

"Okay," Carla slipped effortlessly into super-efficient mode. "You can fix this. Go back inside, apologise, tell her you were a bit hasty–"

"No way!" Kylie refused point blank.

"Kylie–"

"I said no," Kylie was adamant. "I will not be treated like that. Not by so-called family, not by no one."

"Oh damn!" Carla raised her hand as a signal to the van that had just then turned the corner into Coronation Street. "It's just down there on the right," she instructed the driver before turning back to Kylie. "I have to go," she said apologetically. "Please don't do anything to make this situation worse, okay?"

"Whatever," Kylie said as she turned away from Carla and hurried across the street, straight into the Rovers. "Get back to your precious factory, I'll be just fine."

Carla watched her go with a sigh of regret; she knew what she was doing, she'd done it plenty of times herself. She wanted to go after her, to help her, but the delivery driver was waiting for her. Kylie would have to wait.

* * *

"Hello," Gail exclaimed with surprise and pleasure at seeing Nick and Carla on her doorstep that evening. "I didn't think you two were coming to tea?"

"We're not," Carla said. "I actually wanted to see Kylie."

"Hmpf!" Gail snorted. "Good luck trying to get anything out of that one. She's been in a right mood all afternoon."

"I'm not surprised," Carla said. "I saw her earlier."

"You better come in then."

"What do you want?" Kylie asked, barely glancing at her visitor as she threw back her head and drained the contents of the can of lager in her hand.

"I wanted to see how you were, you know, after earlier?" Carla said, sitting tentatively on an armchair set at a right angle to the sofa Kylie was lounging on.

"As you can see, I'm top of the world."

"Right," Carla sighed; this girl sure was hard work, she thought to herself. "I'm taking you didn't sort things out with Audrey?"

"What do you think?"

"What will you do for work?"

"I dunno," Kylie shrugged. "I'm weighing up me options, see. Do I take the job as a brain surgeon, or… should I go for high court judge? What do you think?"

"No need for sarcasm."

"Yeah, well, someone like me don't have many options."

"Which is why," Carla took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm offering you a job at Underworld."

"What?" Kylie looked at Carla properly for the first time, shocked by this unexpected offer.

"What?" Nick repeated Kylie's shock.

"Good luck with that one," Gail muttered in the background.

"It's just in packing," Carla explained. "But it's good honest work."

"Packing?" Kylie's nose screwed up at the thought, far from pleasant to her, of working in a factory packing department.

"I know it's not exactly your dream job, but it's something, yeah?" Carla said. "And it is a job in the fashion industry."

"Fashion?" Kylie laughed. "I'll be packing boxes. How's that remotely related to fashion?"

"You gotta start somewhere."

"I spose you started in packing and all, right?" Kylie asked. "Hmm? Somehow, I can't imagine the big boss slumming it like that."

"No," Carla freely admitted. "I didn't start in packing."

"See."

"Actually, I started out on Paul's market stall," Carla revealed. "Out in all weather, selling tat to randoms passing by. I worked my way up from the bottom. So can you. If that's what you want."

"I dunno," Kylie shrugged.

"If you don't like it, you can leave," Carla said. "No hard feelings. What d'ya say?"

* * *

Carla felt Nick's gaze on her as they left Number 8; inexplicably, the sensation irritated her. She knew what he was thinking and she didn't want to hear it, not then, not ever.

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing?" he asked. "Giving Kylie a job."

"Yes." Carla's answer was final.

"I'm worried you'll regret it."

"Do I tell you who you can and who you cannot hire at the bistro?" Carla demanded.

"No," Nick conceded. "But this situation–"

"Then do me the same courtesy, please, and stop telling me what to do."

"That girl," Nick said. "She's trouble. And I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't try to warn you about her."

"She just needs someone to believe in her," Carla said. "Sure, in ideal circumstances, she might not be my first choice, but I want to give her a chance. Everyone deserves a chance, right?"

"If you say so," Nick shrugged noncommittally. "But I still think–"

"Shhh!" Carla hushed him. "Not another word. Now, please, can we go home?"

* * *

"I've asked dad and Deirdre to give Simon his tea," Peter said, approaching Leanne tentatively across the floor of their living room.

"What did you do that for?" Leanne asked, clearly annoyed by his revelation. "I was going to cook his favourite; spaghetti bolognese."

"I think we need to have a chat, don't you?"

"What?" Leanne was immediately defensive. "So you can tell me again what a terrible person I am for what I did to you? Because, trust me, Peter, I know all about it. You've made damn sure of that."

"Please, Lea, can we talk about this calmly and rationally?"

"So, what? Now I'm irrational?"

"For god's sake, Leanne! I'm trying my best here! Please meet me halfway."

"No, I'm sorry," Leanne sighed, softening in her demeanour and attitude. "It's my fault, I got all defensive. No surprises there, hey? Do you wanna sit down?"

So they sat down, both of them on the sofa, their bodies twisted around so they were facing each other, but still on the far ends of the sofa, the distance between them, both physically and emotionally, palpable.

"Go on, then," Leanne prompted him. "I'm listening."

"You know I love you and I'm trying my best to put what happened last year behind us," he began.

"I sense a but coming," Leanne sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not ready," Peter said. "That doesn't mean I won't be in the future but, right now, having a baby is the last thing on my mind."

"Peter," Leanne shifted forward in her seat, her hand reaching out and covering his, her eyes silently pleading with his. "I love you more than anything in this world. You and our Si. And I want nothing more than to have your baby, a little brother or sister for Si. Please, Peter. I will prove to you that you can trust me. Just, please give me a chance."

"I'm not saying never," Peter said in an effort to placate her. "Wait one year, can you do that?"

Leanne pulled her hands away from Peter and rose to her feet, her back turned away from him as she struggled to process his reluctance. Finally, she turned to face him, her arms crossed, her feet planted firmly on the ground, primed for battle.

"If you don't trust me enough to have a baby with me now," she said, her jaw set and her lip curling slightly into a sneer. "What does that say about our marriage? Hmm?"

"Lea, don't–"

"Because, if we don't have trust, we don't have anything."

"You're twisting this."

"No, Peter," Leanne shook her head. "I'm seeing things clearly for the first time. After the blessing when you chased me down and begged me not to go, I thought, great, here's this man that I adore and he's forgiven me for the biggest mistake of my life. And I thought, finally, after all the pain and the heartache, this is our time to be happy."

"It's not that simple."

"But, no," Leanne wiped her sleeve across her face, sniffing away the tears that threatened to fall. "You were just biding your time, waiting for the first opportunity to throw my mistake back in my face."

"Leanne," Peter begged her understanding. "That's not what I'm doing."

"I was so wrong," Leanne continued, almost oblivious now even to Peter's presence. "I thought I had everything, and now I find out I've got nothing. How stupid was I? How deluded? I can't believe I thought everything was alright, that we had a future."

"Let's do it."

"Let's do… what?"

"Let's try for a baby."

"Are you serious?" Leanne asked. "Please don't mess me around, Peter, I couldn't handle that."

"I'm serious," Peter nodded. "I want us to have a baby."

"Oh, Peter!" Leanne rushed to Peter and, throwing her arms around his neck, drew him into a warm embrace, planting kisses, thankful and grateful kisses, on his lips, on his cheeks, on his forehead. "Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this."

Peter couldn't help but get caught up in Leanne's excitement and pushed down those lingering doubts that insisted on creeping in at the edges of his mind. 'Put it in a box and bury it deep, Barlow,' he thought to himself. Leanne was happy; that was all that mattered.

"Hey," Leanne said, pulling away from Peter slightly and looking into his eyes, her own shining back at him, overflowing with happiness. "Why don't we have a quick drink in the Rovers to celebrate?"

* * *

"Watch out!" Leanne called out, holding out her arm to stop Peter stepping into the road in front of the oncoming car that roared down Coronation Street as the couple were making their way to the Rovers.

"Maniac," she muttered under her breath despite, as Peter admitted to himself, Peter being the one at fault. He had been oblivious to his surroundings, his mind wandering far from the cobbles that mild May evening, into the not-so-distant future when his life would revolve around nappies and sleepless nights and baby vomit.

As he emerged from his trance-like state, Peter became aware of the car's passenger staring at him, peering through the glass and piercing as it were his very soul. He stared back at her, at this woman, this gorgeous, infuriating, passionate and sensitive woman, a woman who, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite shake from his heart. And then he watched her go, driven away by her boyfriend, the father of her baby. Then she was gone.


	14. Week 14: Troublemaker

**Week 14: Troublemaker**

"You're late."

"Keep ya hair on," Kylie drawled as she sauntered into Carla's office. "What's the big deal anyway? Got an urgent box of knickers to deliver?"

Carla took a deep breath and tried to remember back all those years ago when she was exactly the same as Kylie was now; brash and abrasive, angry at anyone and everyone. And then she reminded herself that it had all been an act, a front that she had put on, an armour of sorts to protect herself from a world she knew from bitter experience was out to hurt her. Even so, she couldn't resist fixing a stare on her belligerent new employee so severe that even the estate-tough Kylie baulked.

"Sorry," Kylie muttered, dropping her eyes to the floor, her bravado slipping away.

"Don't let it happen again," Carla said, her attitude softening as she watched Kylie shuffle awkwardly, her feet tapping the ground like a nervous tic. "Come on, let's get you down to packing. Kirk's dying to teach you the basics of scissor-craft."

"Can't wait," Kylie grinned.

* * *

"So, Kirk," Carla spoke to him in earnest. "Train Kylie as best you can this morning, but your priority is to get the Andrews' order packed and delivered by eleven. Do you understand?"

"Right you are, Mrs Connor," Kirk reassured her with a broad smile. "We'll have it done in no time, won't we, Kylie?"

Kirk and Carla both turned to face Kylie, who was standing by a rack of bras, holding one up to her chest, admiring the effect of the satin and lace bustier on her own figure as she preened this way and that.

"Kylie!" Carla chastised her. "Have you been listening?"

"Yeah, course," Kylie brushed off Carla's concern. "Hey, I wouldn't mind one of these meself. Do we get a staff discount?"

"You'll get a discount on your pay packet if you're not careful," Carla warned her. "Just... listen to Kirk and you'll be fine. Now, Kirk."

"Yes, Mrs Connor?"

"Eleven o'clock, remember. I can't afford for any cock ups, not today."

* * *

"You busy?" Nick asked, poking his head around the office door.

"Always, Tilsley," Carla said, glancing up at him briefly before refocusing her gaze on the computer screen in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought," he said, walking into the office and placing a brown paper bag on the desk. "That you might fancy a bit of lunch."

"You brought me lunch?" Carla asked, looking up at him with a smile.

"You're eating for two remember."

"I know, isn't it great," she said as she pulled the paper bag towards her and peeked inside. "What is it?"

"We've got some," Nick said, pulling the bag back towards him and taking out the containers one by one. "Roasted red pepper, tomato and basil penne."

"Did you bring any–"

"Parmigiano reggiano," he said, putting on his best Italian accent, as he pulled out a small container full of grated cheese and giving it a shake. "Only the best stuff straight from Italy."

"Well done," Carla grinned. "What else."

"A roasted beetroot, walnut and arugula salad with some of that blue cheese dressing you like. And to finish..."

"What?" Carla asked expectantly.

"Tell me, what would your ideal dessert be?"

"Don't you dare tease me," Carla warned him. "If that's not a lemon tart in there, then I won't be responsible for my actions."

"It is in fact a lemon tart."

"You are an angel," she smiled gratefully at him. "You know what's so great about being pregnant?"

"I dunno," Nick shrugged. "What?"

"I can eat whatever I want and blame it on the baby," Carla said, before proudly raising her top to expose her belly where a small baby bump was evident. "Check this out."

"Hey, look at that!" Nick enthused, placing his hand on her bare belly. "Hi baby, it's daddy. When did this happen?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "I think it popped out overnight cause I noticed it for the first time this morning in the shower. Oh, hold on."

Carla reached for her mobile phone that had just flashed an incoming message, while Nick began to arrange her lunch on the desk for her.

_Are you free today? I need to talk._

What on earth did Peter want to talk to her about? Carla wondered, her gaze fixed on the text message on her screen.

"Who's that?" Nick asked.

"No one," Carla deflected, hastily placing her phone face down on the desk. "Just one of those spam marketing texts."

"Oh," Nick said absently, immediately dismissing it. "So, I'm working tonight, but I can come to yours after closing if you want me to?"

Carla didn't answer; if she were being honest, Nick's question hadn't even registered in her mind, her thoughts were still wholly engrossed with the text message she'd just received.

"Carla?"

"What?" Carla glanced up at Nick, her brow furrowed.

"I said, I'm working tonight but can come over afterwards if you like. Unless you wanted an early night?"

"Yeah, whatever," Carla said dismissively.

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry," Carla said, forcing herself to smile at Nick and pay him the attention he deserved. "I was just thinking about work."

"Typical Carla," Nick smiled indulgently at her. "So?"

"What?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes," Carla said. "Please, yes, I'd like you to come over."

_Brring brring_

Carla immediately reached for her ringing office phone, grateful for the distraction; from Nick, from Peter, from the thoughts that were rushing through her mind.

"Carla Connor ... Oh, hello, Mr Andrews ... What? Slow down, what? ... Really, is that right ... I understand that must be very frustrating for you, Mr Andrews ... All I can do is apologise and fix the mistake for you straight away ... Yes, within the hour ... I personally guarantee it, Mr –" But Mr Andrews had ended the call. "Rude," Carla muttered before calling out, "Sally!"

"Yes, Mrs Connor?" Sally panted, mere moments later as she appeared at the office door after rushing from her machine to answer the summons.

"Get Kirk and Kylie in here," Carla commanded. "Now!"

"What's happened?" Nick asked, bewildered.

"Incompetence is what's happened!" Carla said, rising to her feet and marching out of the office door and onto the factory floor, Nick scurrying after her.

"Kylie, I take it?" he asked as they made their way in between the maze of sewing tables and into the rear corridor.

"Don't you dare," she warned him.

"Dare what?"

"Say I told you so."

"Ha!" Nick scoffed. "I know better than that by now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The door to Packing opened and Carla and Nick came face to face with Sally, Kirk and Kylie, on their way to see her in the office.

"It's alright, Mrs Connor," Sally said. "They're coming, just like you asked."

"Thanks, Sal, you can go back to your machine," Carla dismissed Sally without a second thought.

"You wanted to see us, Mrs Connor?" Kirk asked, always eager to please Mrs Connor.

"The Andrews order," Carla said tersely.

"Oh, yes," Kirk confirmed with a smile. "All packed and delivered with seven minutes to spare. I checked my watch, the delivery docket was signed at–"

"I've had Mr Andrews on the phone," Carla interrupted, her frustration levels rising rapidly.

"It wasn't my fault," Kirk jumped right in to defend himself. "I didn't see those boxes until it was too late. It was a stupid place to put them anyway, right there in the loading dock where anyone could've run them over."

"You, what? You ran over some boxes?"

"It's okay," Kirk reassured her. "They were empty. Most of them."

"Forget about the boxes," Carla snapped. "I don't care about the boxes. I care about the fact that the Andrews order, our very first order from that client I might add, was short one hundred bras. Care to explain?"

"I don't know how that could've happened, Mrs Connor," Kirk stammered. "Kylie counted them first, and then I counted them, isn't that right, Kylie?"

"That's right," Kylie chimed in. "Maybe this Andrews fella can't count? Did you ever think of that?"

"And what happened after you counted them?" Carla asked with a sigh.

"Well, I went to get the van ready while Kylie packed them into boxes. I had them all laid out and colour coordinated. There was a pile for the teal ones, a pile for the purple ones and a pile for the floral ones."

"You mean those floral ones?" Carla asked, nodding towards a pile of floral satin and lace bras stacked in the corner.

"Yeah, exactly like those ones," Kirk said, his smile fading as realisation dawned on him. "Oh..."

"Kylie?" Carla's steely gaze turned its focus onto Kylie.

"Oops," Kylie shrugged, unable to stop a cheeky grin spreading like wildfire across her face, like a toddler caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I guess I missed them?"

"You guess you missed them?"

"Yeah," Kylie said. "What's the problem? We'll just bob em round now, no biggie."

"The big deal, Kylie," Carla said, her voice low, measured and devastatingly calm. "Is that I promised Mr Andrews something and, thanks to your failure to carry out a task even a simpleton could do blindfolded, I look incompetent."

"Sorry then."

"Now, if you paid more attention to what you were meant to be doing, rather than whining about how the whole world is against you, then maybe, just maybe, you would make something of yourself."

"It's not my fault–"

"I'm beginning to see why Audrey didn't want you working with her, if this is how you behave."

"You know what?" Kylie sneered. "You're just like her. A bitter old witch who thinks she's better than everyone else."

"Kylie," Carla warned.

"Well, you know what?" Kylie stepped forward, her face up close and personal with Carla's. "You're not. You're nothing. No matter how many designer labels you wear, or how much slap you put on your face, you'll still be nothing. And you can shove your stupid job! You can all shove it!"

"Kylie!" Carla called after her troublesome new employee, stomping away down the loading dock and onto the cobbles beyond.

"Just leave her," Nick said, placing his arm gently but firmly on Carla's forearm, effectively restraining her from giving chase.

"But–"

"Give her a chance to cool down," Nick advised her. "I'll drop by the salon and let David know what's happened."

"Okay, thanks," Carla said with a weak smile. Not normally one to back down from a fight, she was grateful for Nick's interception; after one morning, she'd already had enough of Kylie. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah," Nick said and, after planting a quick peck on Carla's lips, disappeared through the loading dock door, following in Kylie's footsteps.

"Mrs Connor, I'm so sorry," Kirk began. "I–"

"Forget about it, Kirk," Carla waved away his apologies. "Can you take those bras round to Andrews straight away?"

"Sure thing."

While Kirk was busy packing the forgotten bras in a box, Carla pulled her mobile from her pocket and quickly typed out a reply to the message that had been playing on her mind ever since it had interrupted her lunch only a few minutes earlier.

_After work at my flat?_

* * *

"Are you alone?" Peter asked with some apprehension as he stepped into Carla's flat that evening.

"Nick's working."

"Right," Peter said absently as he wandered aimlessly to the kitchen counter, to the sofa, back to the kitchen.

"So?" Carla asked. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

"I, umm…" Peter began hesitantly. "I just wanted to, umm… You know what, this was a bad idea. I should go home, Leanne will be wondering where I am."

"Hold on!" Carla raced to hold Peter back from where his hand was now outstretched, ready to open the door. "Wait up a minute. Listen, you came here for a reason so… take your time."

"I didn't know who else to talk to."

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Of course I do. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Umm…" Carla grimaced.

"Oh, sorry, of course, not around baby. I'm sorry, I'm so thoughtless."

"Peter," Carla commanded, her voice firm. "Sit down and tell me what's bothering you."

"Okay," Peter smiled nervously, sitting on the sofa where Carla had indicated.

"Good," Carla said, sitting down next to him and twisting her body to the side to face him directly. "Now begin."

"It seems stupid now we've come to it," Peter shrugged. "But I felt like I needed to talk to someone before I completely lost my mind going over it and over it."

"Can't you speak to Leanne about… whatever it is?"

"Leanne's the last person I can speak to about this."

"Oh," Carla said. "I see."

"The thing is," Peter said, raising his gaze to meet Carla's properly for the first time since he'd arrived at the flat. "What we talked about at the bistro that night."

"When you said you were going to be honest with Leanne about how you didn't want a baby?"

"Things didn't quite work out the way we'd planned," Peter lamented.

"Oh, Peter," Carla sighed. "You know your problem, don't you?"

"I dare say you're about to tell me."

"You're a people pleaser," Carla said. "You're too afraid of disappointing someone to stand up for what you want."

"She was just so excited," Peter explained. "I didn't have the heart to crush her dreams."

"Let me put the kettle on, make us a brew and then you can tell me all about it."

* * *

_Beep beep Beep beep_

"Do you need to get that?" Peter asked as Carla quickly checked her phone. "That's the third time your phone's rung in less than half an hour."

"It's nothing important," Carla said. "What were you saying?"

"I dunno," Peter shrugged. "I guess I'll have to get used to the idea of having a baby around. I can see you shaking your head, you know!"

"Good!" Carla exclaimed. "Maybe it'll get it through your thick skull that you're talking nonsense."

"You got used to the idea, didn't you?"

"My situation's completely different," Carla said. "It was already happening with me. But you. You've still got a chance to stop things before they get too far and you can't go back."

"Look, I appreciate you listening to me and letting me cry on your shoulder, but… me mind's made up."

"If you're sure?"

"I am," Peter said. "I better get going."

"Okay," Carla smiled. "If you ever need anything, you know where I am."

"I do," Peter replied. "Same to you."

"Bye then."

"Bye."

They stood facing each other awkwardly for a moment, unsure of the appropriate way to say goodbye. Peter's arms jerked slightly in the air, a half-hearted attempt at, what exactly Carla wasn't sure. So, she grinned at him, foolishly she thought. Peter grinned back at her and soon enough, his grin erupted into a laugh, a laugh echoed by Carla.

"You're allowed to hug me, you know," Carla said. "Friends hug each other."

"Okay," Peter said, taking a step towards her. "Friend."

He lifted his arms again, with no hesitation this time, and wrapped them around Carla's body, pulling her in close to him. Her arms wrapped around his body and, feeling the warmth of him against her, she let out a small sigh of contentment.

"I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Yeah."

As Carla closed the door behind Peter, she slumped against it, sorting in her mind the events of the evening and what exactly they meant.

And then she remembered Kylie.

With an audible sigh, she strode to her pick up her mobile phone and played the messages, all three of them.

"Carla?" Kylie's drunken voice radiated out through the phones speakers, her voice almost drowned out by the music blaring in the background. "Are you there? Carla? I'm sorry I was a cow. You were so good to– Oi! Piss off! I'm in here! You wanna say that again? You'll be…" Kylie's voice soon became imperceptible amongst the argument that had broken out around her.

Carla deleted the message and moved onto the second.

"Carla, you stupid cow, where the fuck are ya? I wanna speak to ya, yeah? So fucking answer ya fucking phone!"

With a sigh, Carla moved onto the third message.

"You're so lovely, Carla. I love you so much, you're so good to me…" Kylie's message suddenly lapsed into silence; Carla was about to press delete when, with a snort, Kylie was back. "I'm sorry, Carla. I did wrong. Carla. I'm so sorry."

_Beep beep beep_

There were no more messages. It was time to speak to Kylie firsthand.

"Kylie?" Carla yelled into her phone, a vain attempt to make herself heard amidst the dance music that was so loud Carla could almost feel the vibrations of the drum and bass run through the phone line and down into her body. "Kylie! Can you hear me?"

"Carla? Car…"

"Kylie, can you go outside?"

"Wha–"

"Go. Out. Side."

"Kay," came Kylie's slurred reply, followed by the unmistakable sounds of her crashing into tables, people, walls, everything, as she navigated her way outside and onto the street. "I 'ere."

"Where are you, Kylie?" Carla asked.

"Why d'ya wanna know?"

"I'm coming to pick you up."

"But, no…"

"No arguments," Carla said, her tone final. "Now tell me where you are."

"I dunno," Kylie said. "Hey, mate! Where am I?"

"You're at The Provincial, love," came a strange voice.

"I'm at the–"

"Yeah, I heard," Carla said. "Stay put, Kylie, don't move. I'm on my way."

* * *

Carla peered out of the car window as she slowed to a crawl, scanning the pavement outside The Provincial hotel, teeming with late-night revellers. She prayed that Kylie wasn't wandering the streets and had stayed where she was. Luckily for her, Kylie had been too drunk to wander far and was soon spotted, sprawled on a bench outside the kebab shop three doors down from The Provincial.

Carla rolled down the car window and yelled "Kylie! Kylie!" until the young woman opened her eyes with the greatest of efforts and scowled in Carla's direction.

"Get fucked, you pervert!" Kylie called out.

"I'm not kerb crawling, Kylie, I've come to take you home. Now, get in. Now!"

Kylie dragged herself to her feet and, wobbling slightly, stumbled over to Carla's car and slumped into the passenger seat beside Carla.

"You stink," Carla greeted her passenger.

"Yeah, well, you're a stuck-up cow," Kylie retorted.

Carla couldn't help but laugh.

"Buckle up," she said. "And if you get the urge to vomit, please try not to get it on me upholstery."

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" David shouted at Kylie before turning on Carla. "And what is she doing with you?"

"Hey! Your wife called me, off her face drunk," Carla explained, shoving Kylie away from her and into David's arms. "So I drove into town to pick her up. A word of thanks would be nice."

"Yeah," David scowled. "Thanks."

"David," Kylie moaned, her arms wrapped around her husband's neck and her face pressed into his shoulder. "I don't feel so good."

"Come inside then," David sighed, wrapping his arms tight around Kylie and propping her up as they prepared to enter their home.

"I'm sorry, Carla," Kylie spoke sincerely for what seemed the first time that day or night.

"I told you," Carla reassured her. "It's okay. First day nerves. We'll start afresh tomorrow."

"In her state?" David scoffed. "You'll be lucky to see her crawl outta bed before dinnertime."

"No, I mean it, I…" Kylie sobbed a little as she stared at Carla earnestly. "I'm really really sorry."

Carla watched as David dragged his wife inside Number 8 and slammed the door shut, leaving Carla stood alone on the cold, dark front porch. She peered down the street to where the bistro lights danced, a welcoming beacon to diners, enticing them inside. But she didn't fancy seeing Nick and explaining to him what she'd been up to that night. So, she turned on her heel and made her way to where a completely different set of lights beckoned to her; the Rovers Return.

* * *

"Hey," Carla said with a smile as she sidled up to Peter at the bar of the Rovers. "What are you doing here?"

"Drownin' me sorrows in orange juice in an attempt to avoid me baby making duties," Peter said. "What about you? I thought you were in for the night?"

"Ugh!" Carla sighed. "Platt family dramas, don't ask."

"How about a drink then? Lime and soda's your poison, isn't it?"

"Thanks."

Carla smiled as she watched Peter catch the attention of the bar staff and order her drink. Her friend, Peter. Her friend. She mused on these two words, shaking her head at the unexpected way things had worked out between her and Peter.

There had been a time not so long ago when she had wanted him, needed him so desperately that she felt physical pain to be separated from him. But now? Now, she had someone that needed her just as much, if not more, than she had needed Peter. This baby needed her. It needed her and it needed its dad.

And, as for Peter? Maybe having his friendship would be enough. Maybe. She tried to ignore the painful twinge in her heart at the thought that friendship would be as far as her relationship with Peter could ever go. But this was how things had to be; she knew where her loyalties must lie and determined to stick to them no matter what.


	15. Week 15: Snatched

**Week 15: Snatched**

Carla tapped her right foot, a sharp staccato rat-a-tat-tat thanks to her stiletto ankle boots, and sucked her breath in through gritted teeth, impatient at the slow-moving queue for service in Roy's Rolls. Her eyes bored into the back of young Katy Armstrong's head as the teen stood, engrossed in conversation with Anna Windass, currently the sole employee manning the café's front counter.

"Ladies!" Carla called out. "Any chance of saving this gossip session until after school?"

"Oi!" Anna snapped back. "You keep out of this and wait your turn."

"Ugh," Carla sighed and, for the sake of her blood pressure, decided to give it up. So she turned around, ready to leave, when a new arrival scuppered her plans.

"I hope you're not in a hurry," she grumbled to Peter as he joined the end of the queue. "Not with those two gas-bagging."

"I'm watching you," Anna warned her.

"Making friends as usual," Peter joked.

"I'm sorry, but I've got no time for this nonsense," Carla ranted. "Not today."

"Why? What's happening?" Peter asked, his concern palpable. "It's not the baby, is it?"

"No," Carla sighed. "We've got our first runway show next week, it's the reveal of our very first Underworld exclusive collection. It's a big thing, you know, starting my own label."

"Wow, Carla, that's great," Peter said, reaching out and ever so casually running his fingers lightly down her arm. "I'm so pleased for you. You deserve all the success in the world."

"Thank you," Carla said, genuinely touched by Peter's obvious sincerity.

"Knowing what's going on over at the factory," Peter quizzed her. "Why would you be here? In the local greasy spoon? When you've got minions to boss about down the road."

"I do not– Okay, maybe I do boss them about, a teensy tiny bit," Carla conceded with a grin. "But their incessant chatter and singalongs to that damn radio was doing me head in. And don't get me started on Sally Webster! She's the worst, constantly trying to ingratiate herself. The way I saw it, my only means of escape was to volunteer to do the cake run."

"Yes, Carla," Anna finally called Carla to the counter.

"About time," Carla growled. "The usual cakes for the factory, please Anna."

"Anything in particular?"

"No, you choose," Carla waved her off before reconsidering. "Actually, put an extra cream horn in there, will ya?"

"Is that to stuff into Sally's gob when she starts to annoy you?" Peter whispered into her ear.

"Peter!" Carla gasped, shocked but delighted at Peter's joke. "No, actually, it's for me. Or should I say for baby. Because baby is starving."

"Do you use that excuse often?"

"All the time."

"Looks like it too," Peter observed, his gaze lingering on her slightly rounded belly.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"I wouldn't dare."

"There you go, Carla," Anna said, placing a white cardboard box on the countertop and taking from Carla's hand the money she extended to her.

"Keep the change," Carla said, picking up the box and turning to leave.

"Good luck with the collection," Peter wished her well. "I'm sure it'll be amazing. Everything you do is."

"Thanks," Carla smiled warmly at him. "Oh, Peter, I'm sorry, I'm so selfish. I forgot to ask how you are?"

"Me?" Peter shrugged. "Don't you worry about me, you've got enough on your plate."

"But I do worry about you," Carla insisted. "I want you to be happy."

"And I am."

"You sure?"

Peter hesitated, the words he wanted to speak catching in his throat, and then he nodded, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay," Carla said. "You know where I am if–"

"I know."

* * *

"Right, you lot, you've got fifteen minutes," Carla announced as she walked back into the factory with the box of cakes held in her arms as if it were a prized trophy won in arduous battle. "Then I want that sugar rush to push you through to lunch time. I want all the briefs finished by then so we can start on the thongs this afternoon."

"Ooh, you're a star, Mrs C," Sean said, wasting no time in hurrying to the kitchen. "What are you?"

"I'm a star, Seany," Carla couldn't help but smile at Sean; they'd had a connection ever since she'd inherited the factory from Paul years earlier.

"What 'ave we got, then?" Fiz asked, opening up the box. "Ooh, Belgian bun, my favourite."

"Bags the custard slice!" Izzy called out as she manoeuvred her chair around the workstations.

"Someone get Kirk and Kylie from packing," Carla ordered. "And no one touch that cream horn. That–" she announced as she reached out and swiped it from the box. "Is mine."

"Are you sitting with us then, Mrs Connor?" Sally asked in the measured and deferential tones she always saved for speaking to her boss.

"If that's alright with you, Sal," Carla said, taking a large bit out of the cream horn. "I'm gonna slum it today."

"Oh, yes!" Kirk cried out in delight as he walked into the kitchen area, straight from packing, with Kylie in tow. "Is there an, ah, there you are," he said dreamily as he spotted the cake of his dreams. "You beauty."

"Go on, Kylie," Carla nodded towards the cakes. "Have one before this bunch scoff the lot."

"Nah," Kylie screwed up her nose. "I'm not hungry."

"Come on kid," Sean encouraged her. "Don't say you're on a diet, there's not an ounce of fat on you."

"Hmm…" Kylie contemplated the few remaining cakes. "I'll go half an iced finger if anyone wants to share?"

Immediately, Kirk raised his hand in the air. "I'll do it," he offered.

"Of course you will," she grinned at him. "Give us a knife then."

"Mrs Connor," Sally addressed Carla again.

"Yes, Sal."

"Doesn't fashion week start today?"

"It does," Carla confirmed. "You're not going to quit are you and become the next big catwalk model?"

"No," Sally said, smiling placidly. "I'll leave that up to Rosie. You know she's a professional model, don't you?"

"Only cause you won't stop telling us," Sean interjected. "Every single day."

"Anyway," Sally ignored Sean and pressed on with her objective. "I just thought if you wanted to go, I could take care of the factory for you while you're gone."

"That's very selfless of you, Sally, but I'm not going to fashion week. Not until the Underworld show which, as you all know, is only a week away. And there's a lot to do before then."

"I heard the Fosters show is this afternoon," Sally dropped her bombshell and stayed to watch it explode. "Surely you want to go and, you know, check out the competition?"

"Alright, everyone," Carla rose to her feet and addressed her employees with no hint of her previous good humour remaining. "I want you to listen and listen good. We are in competition with no one except ourselves. I don't want to hear about what anyone else is doing, let alone that– man. Not another word. You got it?"

"Yes, Mrs Connor," the group chanted in not-quite unison.

"Good," Carla was satisfied. "Now, Kirk, Kylie, come see me in the office after tea break. I wanna talk logistics for next week's show."

* * *

"The turnaround time between shows is very tight," Carla said to Kirk and Kylie who were sat across from her, the desk a physical symbol of the very real divide between boss and workers. "I need you two to be extra organised so that bump in and bump out goes off without a hitch."

"Don't you worry 'bout a thing, Mrs Connor," Kirk said. "I can move like lightning, me."

"We'll do a checklist or summat, yeah?" Kylie ignored Kirk and spoke directly to Carla. "I can do up a draft if you like and we can go through it together?"

"Thank you, Kylie," Carla said. "That's very helpful."

"The set design," Kylie asked, studying the sketches Carla had laid out on the desk for them. "Did you…?"

"Me?" Carla laughed. "No, I hired a set designer. She does a lot of the big shows at fashion week actually."

"Are you really not gonna check out any other shows?" Kylie asked, their personal relationship giving her the courage to ask questions the other staff might have baulked at, knowing Carla's infamous volatility as they all did.

"I wouldn't mind going along for a look-see," Kirk announced with a cheeky grin.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Carla couldn't help but smile at Kirk's enthusiasm, before transferring her gaze back to Kylie and pausing for a moment, lost in reflection. "You know what, Kylie," she finally announced. "I think I just might."

"What?" Kylie asked, confused. "You're going to fashion week?"

"No," Carla said, rising to her feet and grabbing her jacket and handbag. "_We're_ going to fashion week. You and me."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Carla insisted. "Who else would I want to go with? Certainly not one of that motley crew out there."

"Okay," Kylie shrugged. "I guess it'll be fun."

"Kirk!" Carla cried out.

"Yes, Mrs Connor?" Kirk stared at her eagerly.

"You, umm…" Carla hesitated for a moment. "Tell Sally she's in charge until I get back."

* * *

"Now," Carla said, running her index finger down a list on a glossy brochure she held in her hands. "Cartwrights are pretty classy, you know only the finest handmade lace, with a price tag to match obviously. That'd be a good show to see."

"So, Cartwrights then?" Kylie asked.

"But Fosters is on at the same time," Carla considered her options.

"Fosters?"

"Yeah, Frank Foster," Carla explained. "I almost did a deal with him a few months back."

"Why didn't you?"

"He's not the sort of man I would ever want to associate with."

"I don't understand."

"Let's just say," Carla replied cryptically. "I don't work with bullies. And I definitely don't work with sleazes. When I stood up to him and made it clear I wasn't going to be pushed around, he…"

"What did he do?"

"To me? He was a bit aggressive, a lot threatening. But it was… it _is_ someone else's story, I'm sorry. Just know that he's not a good person."

"Right," Kylie mused on Carla's words and lapsed into silence.

"We'll go to Fosters."

"Are you sure?" Kylie asked. "I mean, if he's as nasty as you say then maybe we should steer clear?"

"No," Carla shook her head defiantly. "I'm not gonna let that man scare me away from nothing. No way!"

* * *

"This is flash," Kylie admired her surroundings as she and Carla stepped into the reception area of the Fosters runway show.

"Don't mistake money for class," Carla advised her. "Just look at me."

"You're well classy, you are," Kylie insisted.

"No, darlin', that's just a front," Carla's smile faded as she spotted a familiar face over Kylie's shoulder. "Oh, god."

"What?" Kylie turned her head to see what had caught Carla's attention.

"Don't look!" Carla grabbed her hand urgently. "It's Frank Foster. I don't want him to see me."

"Which one is he?" Kylie dared to look.

"In the suit, standing next to that garish flower display," Carla said. "The one with the smarmy self-satisfied smirk."

Kylie stared at him, transfixed by him, murmuring a vague "I see" in response to Carla's vitriol.

"Let's go in and get our seats," Carla suggested, maintaining her grip on Kylie's hand and almost dragging her into the large space the main event was due to take place in.

The room was laid out in a fairly standard setup, the long runway running straight down the middle of the space with seating either side and an area for photographers down the far end. The backdrop was minimalist with a simple 'Fosters Autumn 2011' emblazoned across the stark white wall.

Carla and Kylie chose seats right at the back; despite her bravado, Carla did not want to see Frank or risk him seeing her. So she tried, for the first time in her life, to blend into the crowd.

The crowd soon arrived, filtering into the room as the start of the show ticked ever closer. And soon enough, the music that would accompany the models as they strutted their stuff began to play through the sound system.

"Let's see what the competition are up to, yeah?" Carla turned to Kylie, a smile on her face at the excitement of watching new fashion trends unfold before her eyes. But the smile soon faded, and was replaced by an expression of pure shock and horror.

"Oh my god," Kylie gasped as she watched the models walk down the runway, one after the other.

"What's going on?" Carla asked, bewildered by what she was seeing. "This can't be happening!"

"Oh my god," Kylie repeated, the ramifications of the scene playing out before her eyes slowly sinking in.

"I'm gonna kill him," Carla hissed, unable to look away from the runway where all her hopes and dreams for Underworld's future were slipping away. "I'm gonna flaming kill him!"

* * *

"I'm sorry, but unless you've got a VIP pass, you can't go in there."

"Oh, get outta my way, you silly man," Carla said, pushing past the suited man with the clipboard who was guarding the entrance to the backstage area. "Come on, Kylie."

Kylie couldn't help but smile smugly at the man as he watched them, helpless to stop them, while they penetrated his defences.

"Where is he?" Carla demanded, scanning the space that was crowded with models, backstage staff, important buyers and suppliers, the fashion press, they were all there. Finally, she spotted Frank, revelling in the spotlight, surrounded by reporters. "I'm gonna wipe that smirk right off his face."

Kylie hung back a little as Carla stormed over to the scrum surrounding Frank, giving the Underworld boss the space she needed to switch into attack mode.

"You telling the press how you stole my entire collection, are you Frank?"

"Carla, glad you could make it," Frank simpered. "I was just talking about how proud I am of this latest Fosters collection. I think it's our best one yet."

"The collection you stole from Underworld you mean?"

"Now now, Carla, don't go throwing accusations like that about," Frank said in his usual infuriatingly calm manner. "Or I'll have to get my lawyer involved."

"You know what you did, Frank," Carla continued to fling recriminations at him. "How did you do it, hmm? How did you get access to Underworld's designs?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Every single design that just walked down that runway is an Underworld design!" Carla's voice was raised now as she quickly began to lose her cool. "How? How did you do it?"

"I did nothing," Frank shrugged, playing bemused and bewildered for the onlookers, as he left the safety of the press huddle and walked slowly towards Carla. "And you can't prove otherwise. Kylie," he suddenly switched his gaze from Carla to Kylie and said quite calmly. "It's nice to see you again, I very much enjoyed our chat. Now ladies," he grinned as he watched the expression on both Carla and Kylie's faces transform as the truth was laid bare. "If you'll excuse me, I've got an opening night party to attend."

As Frank slipped away, the meaning of his words began to sink into Carla's mind. She slowly turned to face Kylie and knew instantly that her newfound suspicions were correct; the guilt was written clearly all over Kylie's face, she made no attempt to conceal it.

Carla took a deep breath, a steadying breath, and forced herself to remain calm as she faced down her own personal Judas.

"Start talking."


	16. Week 16: Snakes and ladders

**Week 16: Snakes and ladders**

"Well?" Carla demanded, glaring at Kylie, who shuffled her feet nervously.

"I…" Kylie faltered, unable to look Carla directly in the eye, instead focusing her gaze on Carla's right ear. "I didn't…"

"You didn't what?" Carla sneered at her. "You didn't mean it? Is that what you were going to say?"

"I didn't, I–" But Kylie couldn't; she turned and ran out of the backstage area, past the suited man with the ineffectual clipboard, through the front of house area and straight out of the fashion week venue.

"Oh, come on!" Carla cried out in exasperation as she watched Kylie flee from her presence, before reluctantly giving chase.

But it seemed as if Kylie had disappeared into thin air. Carla searched the reception area where guests were drinking their fill of free champagne and scoffing bites of pretentious finger food. She searched the corridors and the toilets, kicking in the empty doors, one after the other, her frustration levels now at their peak.

Finally, she made her way to her car, hoping that Kylie would be waiting for her there, suitably humbled and ready to make amends. But Carla found herself a solo traveller on the drive back to Weatherfield that afternoon. Kylie had done Kylie to perfection and most likely, according to Carla's train of thought, was now in a pub downing pint after pint while wallowing in self-pity.

* * *

"Would you like to give me a hand peeling the potatoes for dinner, Kylie?" Gail called out to her daughter-in-law.

"No, thank you!" Kylie was defiant; she was quite happy lounging on the sofa, her legs draped over the cushioned arm, her elbow propped up on some soft pillows, while she watched the telly.

"So, you're just going to sit there all evening, are you? While I wait on you hand and foot?"

"That's the plan."

"What are you doing home so early anyway?" David asked, grabbing two cans of lager from the fridge.

"Carla gave us an early mark," Kylie shrugged in response, reaching out and taking one of the cans. "Ta."

"Carla?" David screwed up his face in disbelief, plonking himself down onto the sofa next to his wife and cracking open his can, tipping back his head and draining a good third of the can before resurfacing. "Why would she do that?"

"Flaming hell, David, what's with all the questions? I don't know, alright!"

"Okay!" David stared at Kylie. "Settle down, will ya. I was just thinking it don't sound like Carla is all."

"Well, you don't know her do you," Kylie sneered.

"What is the matter with you today?"

_Ding dong_

"Did summat happen at work?" David continued the inquisition of his wife.

"Give it a rest, David!" Kylie snapped at him.

_Ding dong_

"You can be so annoying sometimes, you know that?"

"I'll get that, shall I?" Gail asked, rushing from the kitchen and past where David and Kylie were sat, unmoving, to answer the front door.

"Oh, hello, Carla," Gail greeted her unexpected guest.

"Is she here?"

"Who?"

"Who do you think?"

Carla pushed past Gail and into the front room of Number 8 and stood, her arms folded, glaring at Kylie.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well what?" Kylie wasn't about to make this easy for either of them.

"I think I deserve an explanation, don't you?" Carla said. "I won't hold my breath for an apology though, that's clearly beyond you."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Kylie said, folding her arms across her chest, stubborn to the last.

"_You_ don't want to talk about it?"

"Look, I messed up," Kylie grudgingly confessed. "I know that. What more is there to say?"

"I dunno," Carla shrugged. "Maybe, you're fired."

"Whoa!" David finally interjected. "Hold on a minute. You can't fire her!"

"I think I just did."

"Am I missing summat? Can someone please tell me what's going on here? Kylie?"

But Kylie sat in silence, pigheadedly refusing to speak, to admit to her crimes.

"She gave– or was it sold? Did you profit from your sordid little deal? Hmm?" But, despite fixing Kylie with her deadliest stare, Kylie would not reply to Carla. "Gave my designs, the entire Underworld collection, to my biggest competitor. We've just seen them, this afternoon, walking down the runway, every single last design that I've been working on for months. Gone. Just like that."

"Kylie!" Gail gasped in shock from her spot in the kitchen where she'd been eavesdropping on every word that had been spoken in the living room. "How could you? How could you betray Carla like that? I didn't think even you could sink so low. I mean, Carla's given you so much. She's given you this amazing opportunity to better yourself and you do this to her!"

"Because she's so perfect, isn't she?" Kylie sneered. "She's perfect and I'm useless. Don't worry, Gail, I've got the message loud and clear."

"Give me strength!" Carla cried. "This self-pity thing you've got going on is beyond tiresome."

"If you don't like it," Kylie suggested. "Then get lost!"

"What?"

"Go on! Get outta here! I never wanted your poxy job in the first place."

Carla stared at Kylie in shock; she hadn't expected grovelling, not from Kylie, but she had expected some sort of contrition, an attempt at an explanation.

"I said get out!"

* * *

Carla stood on the doorstep of Number 8, more than a little shell-shocked. She stood there, staring straight ahead, at a loss as to what to do next. So she fell back into old habits, into actions her body knew from both instinct and repetition how to carry out without the necessary interventions from her brain or her heart.

She found herself walking down Coronation Street the short distance to Dev's store; she then found herself walking inside Dev's store, walking past the shelves of ready meals, the tinned soups and instant noodles, and came to a stop in front of the spirits display.

Because this is where she always came when things got tough, when things didn't go her way, even when things slightly annoyed her. She stared longingly at the vodka and the whiskey, the gin, heck even the brandy would get a look in tonight, all the while knowing it was pointless; she would have to find another way to cope.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Dev called her back to the present from his prime position perched behind the shop counter, surveying his kingdom.

"Just, umm, one of these, thanks Dev," Carla said, grabbing a bottle of juice from the fridge. "And this," she added, picking up a chocolate bar and placing it down onto the counter. "Maybe one more. Or two. Cravings," she explained in response to Dev's raised eyebrow.

"Ah, that's right," Dev said, catching on. "I did hear a little birdy say you were, ah… expecting," he rubbed his stomach as if he was leading a game of charades. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Nick, isn't it?" Dev asked. "The, ah, the father?"

"That's right."

"I never realised you and Nick were that close?"

"What?" Carla smirked, beginning to enjoy herself immensely. "Don't say you're jealous, Dev?"

"Me?" Dev laughed nervously. "No!"

"I know Nick's a catch and all, but I think I'm more his type."

Dev's smile slipped. "That'll be three-fifty," he said dead-pan.

"Thank you," Carla chirped as she handed over the cash and, scooping up her purchases, exited the store. And there, on the front step of the corner store, she was unable to wait any longer; she ripped the wrapping from one of the chocolate bars and took a large bite, delighting in the taste of the chocolate in her mouth, melting in her mouth. "Oh, that's good," she murmured to herself as she set off on the short walk back to the factory.

She stopped on the factory forecourt and stared up at it, at this small insignificant building, and reflected back on those times she'd been at risk of losing it. It was only a year ago that the place had been virtually physically destroyed after Tony– but she couldn't think about Tony. Because then she'd be forced to think about Liam and about Paul, about everything she'd lost. And yet, even though this place represented so much loss for her personally, she felt a special connection to it. A connection that would guarantee she would fight to her last breath for its survival and success.

Plastering a smile on her face for the first time since discovering Kylie's betrayal earlier that day, Carla stepped towards Underworld with positivity. Until she heard her name called out from the darkness.

"Carla!" David came running out of the shadows from Number 8 towards the factory door where Carla stood, the factory keys in her hand. "Wait up, I need to speak to you."

"What do you want?" Carla asked impatiently; she had no time for the Platt family tonight.

"I've come to ask…" David faltered, knowing full well how Carla would react, but needing to ask anyway. "To ask you to give Kylie her job back."

Carla laughed, gobsmacked that David would dare ask that of her.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Why should I?"

"Look, she's really sorry for what she did."

"It didn't sound like that to me."

"You know what she's like," David pleaded with her "She's not good at expressing herself."

"Well, she needs to learn if she's ever gonna get on in this world."

"It would help if you gave her another chance."

"If she hasn't got the guts to come speak to me face to face, then," Carla shrugged. "I'm not interested. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an entire collection to design and manufacture from scratch in a week thanks to that wife of yours."

* * *

Carla stared at the blank sketch pad in front of her. She'd set herself up with pencils at the ready, but nothing had come, the pages of the sketch pad remained blank.

"You're trying to force it, that's why it's not happening."

Carla glanced up at her office door to where Nick was stood, gazing down at her.

"What else can I do?" Carla shrugged, adding with a sigh, "You heard then?"

"I've just been round at mum's," he replied. "She had quite a lot to say on the subject."

"I bet she did."

"On a positive note, I think she likes you more than Kylie."

"I might've lost a collection but hey, that's fine, I've won the in-laws race. Great."

"Out-laws, you mean?"

"Obviously."

"Look," Nick's voice softened. "You've had a long day, why don't you come home and put your feet up."

"I've got too much to do here."

"It'll wait til tomorrow."

"No, Nick, it won't."

"Think of the baby," he pleaded with her. "You need to avoid stress."

"Then why don't you leave?!" Carla snapped at him. "Because you are the only source of stress for me right now."

"What?"

"Go on, Nick, go home. Leave me to work in peace."

"I don't feel comfortable–"

"Go!"

"I'll be next door if you need me."

"Whatever."

Nick closed the gap between him and Carla with his long, confident stride and leaned down to kiss her goodbye, but stopped just before he reached her and raised an eyebrow, searching her gaze.

"Go on, then," Carla said, rolling her eyes cheekily. "Give us a kiss."

So he kissed her, whispering "take care of yourself," into her ear. And then he left Carla alone to work in the peace she so desperately craved.

Once again, she stared at the blank sketch pad in front of her and, once again, no inspiration struck. She was at a loss. The collection – her collection – had been everything she'd dreamed of, everything that represented her as a designer. It had been classy and elegant, but with a sexy edge. She'd been so proud of every garment, so emotionally attached to every piece that, to now be faced with replacing it so casually, seemed to her cold-hearted, cruel even, as if abandoning a much wanted and longed-for child. That the clock was ticking, the deadline looming, made it even worse and effectively paralysed her into inaction.

She doodled a few ideas absently, but nothing was capturing her imagination. As she leaned back in her chair with a despondent sigh, she heard the unmistakable sounds of the factory's front door open and close.

"Nick! I told you to go home!" she called out.

"Not Nick."

"Get out!" Carla shouted as she saw Kylie stood so calm and so seemingly unaffected at the office door.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"David said he begged you to give me my job back."

"I would've respected you more if you'd done your own dirty work," Carla pointed out. "Just a little tip for next time."

"I didn't ask him to do that. In fact, I kinda went off at him when he told me."

"Good," Carla sniped. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to apologise. Look, Carla, I'm really really sorry, you have no idea how much."

"Why did you do it?"

"D'ya remember that day I went off in a strop?"

"How can I forget?"

"Wish I could," Kylie shook her head at the memory. "I'd been drinking, a lot, and I was mad at you and, I dunno, I got talking to this guy at the bar, I didn't know who he was. But, I'd been talking about Underworld, kinda bigging meself up, making out I was more important than I was. And he was interested in what I was saying so I, umm, I decided to prove how in the know I was."

"What did you do?"

"I'd taken photos of that board out on the sewing floor, you know the one with all the sketches and the fabric swatches."

"So… you gave him everything?"

"Pretty much," Kylie sighed. "He must've sent himself a copy from my phone, I don't know exactly what happened, like I said, I was drunk."

"When did you realise?"

"When you pointed him out at the show this afternoon."

"Bit of a shock, was it? Seeing him?"

"What do you reckon?" Kylie snorted. "I thought I was having a heart attack or summat. So?"

"So, what?"

"Are you gonna forgive me?"

"Well, you were definitely stupid."

"Gee, thanks."

"But you weren't malicious."

"I'd never…" Kylie insisted. "Does that mean?"

"Yes, you're forgiven."

"Good, because I am going to do whatever it takes to fix this mess."

"It's a nice sentiment, Kylie, but," Carla shrugged. "I honestly don't know what you can do to help. I mean, I can't even come up with a new concept. I can't seem to move on from the last collection. It was so… perfect."

"Oh, god, I feel even more guilty now."

"Kylie, please, let's just leave it in the past and look to the future and, I don't know…"

"Okay, well, I could, at the very least, make you endless cups of coffee to keep your energy levels up?"

"It's not good for the baby, too much coffee."

"Ice cream and pickles then, whatever you want. Although I never understood that craving, I never had it when I was pregnant with Max."

"What sorts of things did you crave?"

"Salt," Kylie revealed. "Anything really salty. Hot chips, crisps… sometimes I'd lick the salt off a crisp and put it back in the bag."

"Eww," Carla's screwed up her nose at the thought.

"I know, it's disgusting, but I couldn't help myself," Kylie laughed at the memory. "What about you? Any strange cravings yet?"

"Umm… Nothing weird, you know, just food and lots of it. Seriously, anything I can get me hands on I'm shovelling it in me gob. I'm gonna look like I'm pregnant with quads or summat soon if I don't give it a rest."

"Give over, you're gorgeous."

"What I am, Kylie, is stuck."

"No ideas?"

"Nothing new. Nothing good enough. I can't seem to think straight and then I keep looking at the clock and that only makes it worse."

"What is Underworld?" Kylie asked out of the blue.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what makes Underworld, Underworld? It's like, I've tried sometimes the past few months to pretend with Gail, to pretend to be the person she things is deserving of her son. But that's not me and that's not who David fell in love with."

"The collection Frank stole, that was classy, timeless, sexy. Are you saying that's not me?"

"I'm saying that could've been anyone's collection. No one doubted it looked like a Fosters collection, right? I guess what I'm trying to say, really really badly, is… imagine a collection where anyone who looks at it will know straight away that it's an Underworld collection."

"You know what, you just might be onto something there."

"I am?" Kylie sounded surprised.

"I've got an idea," Carla said, pulling her sketch pad towards her.

"Tell me, what can I do?"

Carla scribbled out a list on a scrap of paper and handed it to Kylie.

"Fetch me those fabrics from the fabric store."

"But some of these," Kylie said, scrutinising the list. "I don't even know what some of these fabrics are."

"So use your phone and look em up on the internet, read the descriptions of what they look like and feel like and, I dunno, figure it out."

"I can do that."

As Kylie hurried away to the fabric store, Carla got to work sketching out her ideas of what Underworld meant to her. She sketched and Kylie fetched. They talked about the sketches, about what fabrics to use and, as Kylie had promised, they drunk copious amounts of coffee.

* * *

"Hey," Nick bent low over where Carla was slumped in her office chair, kissing her forehead and running his fingers gently through her hair. "Enough now."

"What's the time?" Carla murmured.

"Seven a-m."

"Ugh," Carla moaned. "Kylie, did you hear that?"

"What?" Kylie asked from her half-asleep state sitting on the floor moving pieces of fabric around like a jigsaw puzzle, trying to get the best combination.

"Nick says it's seven o'clock."

"In the morning?"

"Yes," Nick asserted. "And I think it's time both of you got yourselves home and into bed."

"I need to see Hayley first," Carla insisted. "Then I'll go to bed."

"Babe, it's Saturday."

"I know, but I need Hayley to make up some patterns from these designs so the machinists can get cracking first thing on Monday."

"And then you'll go to bed?"

"Yes," she promised, adding with a cheeky grin, "You can even join me if you wanted to make sure I go."

"Hmm…" Nick's lip curled at the thought. "I might take you up on that."

"I'm gonna vomit if I hear you two talk like that any longer," Kylie said. "I'm off."

"Okay," Carla smiled at her apprentice for the night. "And Kylie?"

"Yeah?" Kylie turned to face Carla.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Kylie said. "Best fun I've had in ages."

* * *

As Carla stepped out onto the runway, microphone in hand, the gathered guests – buyers, fashion reporters, socialites, as well as friends and family – settled down into their chairs and focused their collective gaze on the Underworld boss.

Gone was the sleek and sophisticated set design of the first collection; in its place was something fun and sexy, colourful and fresh. She stared out over the crowd and, taking a steadying breath, raised the microphone to her mouth.

"A good friend of mine recently asked me, 'What is Underworld?' and I had to think really hard about it, about what it truly was as opposed to what I thought it should be. For years, Underworld has been this place, this little factory in a little Manchester back street, where the gobbiest, the brashest, the most loud-mouthed, opinionated – and most talented – bunch of knicker stitchers has done just that – stitch knickers. So that is what I wanted the first Underworld collection to represent. Pieces that are unashamedly in-your-face brash and sexy, but oh-so comfortable, the kind of thing you wanna be wearing when you're having a right old natter with your mates over a brew and a custard cream. So, without further ado, I am so proud to present to you Underworld's very first in-house collection for Autumn 2011."

Carla stepped down from the runway while the DJ opposite her began their set, an accompaniment to the models that now came streaming out onto the runway, each to do their walk up to the end, a pose _click_ another pose _click_, before turning and walking back, poised until they were out of sight and backstage. And that's when the pace became frenetic, when the models would tear off their outfit and get helped into their next one, their hair and make-up were given a touch-up, and they got back into line, ready for their next walk.

Carla hurried backstage and watched the action unfold front of house through a screen that had been set up to livestream the runway. After months of build-up and a week of what could only be described as a mad panic to get the new collection over the line, the show went by in a flash. Not only that, but it was more successful than Carla could have anticipated. The livestream showed eyes glued to the designs, buyers scribbling notes in the Underworld catalogue, photographers snapping shot after shot of the models as they posed at the end of the runway.

And then, before she knew it, the show was over and she was once again walking out onto the runway, surrounded by models, to complete the final walk, the lap of fashion honour. As she looked into the audience, she caught glimpses of the people whose presence meant the most to her; Nick was there with Gail and David, Peter was beaming up at her, Leanne, scowling as usual, by his side. But, even the sight of Leanne's face couldn't dampen her spirits.

Backstage once again, everyone was in a buoyant mood, their energy levels heightened as they prepared to celebrate.

"Hey, Kylie?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Come here a minute."

"Have I done summat wrong?"

"No," Carla laughed. "Stop being so paranoid. I, umm, I just wanted to say thank you."

"What?" Kylie screwed her face up in confusion. "Have you forgotten it was my fault everything went to pot in the first place?"

"What I haven't forgotten is how much you've helped me this past week. You've been there every step of the way. And all this," Carla spread her arms out, motioning to the whole room. "It couldn't have happened without you."

"Well, I wanted to prove how sorry I was," Kylie said. "And that you can trust me."

"I do trust you, Kylie. And you have proven yourself, more than. And you know what? I think this collection is even better than the one Frank stole."

"I think you might be right."


	17. Week 17: Family Ties - Part I

**Week 17: Family Ties – Part I**

"Alright!" Carla called out as she stepped onto the factory floor and clapped her hands together. "Everyone gather round. Quickly now … Is everyone here?"

"Yes, Mrs Connor," a chorus of voices chanted.

"Well…" Carla began, looking about the gathered group with a smile. "You might be wondering why I brought you all together like this, one big happy family. The fact is, I wanted to say thank you."

"Are you feeling alright, Mrs Connor?" Izzy quipped with raised eyebrow. "You're not usually so…"

"Nice," Sean interjected. "I think the word you're looking for is 'nice'."

"Yes, thank you Sean," Carla said, fixing him with a warning glare.

"Ooh, not me, Mrs C," Sean added. "I've always thought you were fabulous."

"Can I talk now?" Carla shrugged. "Is that–?"

"Don't let me stop you," Sean waved her on. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Thank you," Carla smiled at him indulgently. "As I was saying, all the hard work every single one of you put in to make last week's fashion show the huge success it was, is, well, I appreciate it. I really do." Carla paused for a moment as she heard the phone in her office start ringing.

"Do you want me to answer that?" Sally piped up, always looking for ways to ingratiate herself with the boss.

"No, Sal, stay where you are," Carla commanded before recommencing her pep talk. "And this past week has been no different, with everyone stepping up to make up for our stock shortfall after…" Carla glanced across at Kylie, who dropped her gaze to the floor, the shame of having been the cause of Underworld dumping perfectly good stock still weighing heavily on her conscience. "Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that you've all pulled together as a team to achieve pretty much the impossible. And I am so grateful to each and every one of you."

"Just how grateful are you?" Fiz quizzed her.

"Yeah," Izzy added. "Is this the point of your speech where you tell us we're all getting bonuses?"

"As a matter of fact," Carla replied cryptically, before her attention was diverted yet again by the office phone ringing. "Sally, answer the phone!"

"Yes, Mrs Connor," Sally assented, jumping up eagerly from her chair and hurrying into Carla's office.

"Over the past week," Carla continued. "Orders for the new line have been flooding in. Our order books are officially full. And you know what that means don't you?"

"Overtime?"

"Overtime!"

The general consensus to this news was positive as each person started to day dream about what they would do with the extra money.

"And, as for bonuses," Carla said, enjoying herself immensely as she teased her staff with the ultimate carrot. "If, and I repeat, if we meet our month-end targets–"

"Excuse me, Mrs Connor," Sally interrupted her.

"Sal," Carla turned her glare onto Sally. "I'm having a moment here with me staff."

"I know, it's just–"

"Can this not wait one minute?"

"I don't think it can, Mrs Connor," Sally said, before whispering her message into Carla's ear.

"Really?" Carla was clearly shocked by Sally's revelation. "Umm… okay."

With all thoughts of orders and overtime and bonuses forgotten, Carla turned and walked away from her gathered staff, leaving them confused and more than a little agitated.

"You were gonna tell us about our bonuses, Mrs Connor!" Sean called out after her, only to be ignored as the office door swung closed, Carla safely ensconced inside. "Rude."

"This is not the time, Sean," Sally warned him.

"Why?" Izzy piped up. "What's that phone call about?"

"That is none of your business," Sally censured. "Now I suggest you get on with your work or there'll be no bonuses for anyone."

"Ooh," Sean jeered. "Who died and put you in charge?"

"Sally!" Carla called out as she stepped out of her office. "You're in charge. I'll be out for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Mrs Connor," Sally beamed with delight. "Can I ask–"

"Just get on with it."

Sally watched Carla leave the factory with satisfaction, revelling in her newfound power, ready to make her mark. "Alright, then," she said, turning to face her colleagues. "Everyone back to work, quick smart. You heard the boss, we've got deadlines to meet."

* * *

Carla's hands trembled as she dug her car keys out from her handbag and attempted to unlock her car door, unsuccessfully it turned out as the keys slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground.

"Damn," she cursed her traitorous body. She crouched down to scoop the keys up but instead found herself leaning against the car, her forehead pressed onto the metalwork, soft sobs slowly rising from deep within her, threatening to overpower her entirely. "Get a grip, Carla," she chastised herself, knowing that falling apart now would be the worst thing she could possibly do.

Decidedly then, she slowly rose to her feet and, steadying her hands, gripping one firmly with the other, she managed to unlock and open the car door and slide her body into the driver's seat. Then, using all her concentration and willpower, she claimed another small victory and inserted the key into the ignition.

But still her hands, her whole body even, was shaking, her mind spinning, and her stomach churning. She bowed her head, resting her forehead on the steering wheel when the passenger door opened and, with a little bounce as new weight was added to the car, someone sat down next to her.

"Carla," Peter spoke her name, his voice no more than a gentle whisper that immediately soothed and calmed her. "What's wrong?"

Carla sat up straight in her seat, steeled herself and then lied, "I'm fine", desperate to cling onto denial as long as possible; it was the only way she could maintain even a little composure.

"You are not fine."

"Peter, please don't."

"Carla, it's me you're talking to," he reached over and took her hand in his. "Hmm? Tell me what's going on."

Carla turned to face Peter. As their eyes met, all of Carla's resolve crumbled; she could not hide the truth from him and so, her barriers tumbling down, she let the tears freely flow.

"Oh, love," Peter said. "What's happened?"

"It's me mum," Carla whimpered in a small, weak voice, a voice unlike any Peter had ever heard come from her mouth. "She's dying."

"Oh, Carla, I'm so sorry."

"I need to go."

With the truth now spoken, Carla realised the urgency of action and, despite her hands still shaking with shock, made another attempt to ignite the car engine into life.

"Why don't I drive?" Peter suggested.

"No, Peter," Carla shook her head. "You can't."

"I can't let you drive in this state now, can I?"

"You don't understand, Peter," Carla sighed. "Me mum, she's hours away."

"We better get going then."

"I can't ask you to–"

"You don't need to ask," Peter said. "I'm offering, no– I'm insisting. So…" Peter quickly exited the car and hurried to the driver's door, opening it and motioning for Carla to get out. "If you don't mind."

Carla gazed up at him, searching his eyes; what she saw in them convinced her of his sincerity.

"Thank you."

"Don't," Peter shook his head. "Don't thank me for doing the only thing a friend could in all good conscience do. Now, do I have to physically remove you from that seat, or…?"

Despite the circumstances, Carla couldn't help but smile, laugh a little even, at Peter's efforts to make her feel better. She happily switched to the passenger seat, allowing Peter to take control of the car and get their journey started.

* * *

Nick stood on the street, watching in confusion as Peter drove Carla away, to where, he didn't know. But he was determined to find out.

"Hi, Sal," Nick said, having made a beeline for the factory. "Is Carla around?"

"Ah," Sally faltered. "No. She left a few minutes ago, you only just missed her."

"Do you know where she went?"

"Sorry, no."

"Okay," Nick tried a new tack. "Who did she go with?"

"No one," Sally answered honestly.

"No one?" Nick asked. "You sure about that?"

"Yes, Nick, I am," Sally insisted. "Ask anyone here, she left here alone. Why don't you ask her yourself, I mean, she is your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Nick exited the factory as quickly as he'd entered mere moments before and, taking Sally's advice, tried calling Carla to extract an explanation from her first hand.

_Brrinng brrinng Brrinng brrinng_

Nick sighed; straight to voicemail. _'This is Carla Connor, leave a message and I'll get back to you.'_

Opting not to leave a message and instead slipping the phone back into his pocket, Nick stood for a moment, paralysed by indecision. Should he let it go? Should he trust her? Could he trust her? He knew he didn't trust Peter, there was no doubt about that. But Carla? She was having his baby, of course he could trust her.

Instinctively, Nick's steps lead him straight to the one person guaranteed to play on his insecurities, to heighten the doubts that were swirling through his mind, not just about Carla, but about himself.

Pushing open the door of the bookies, he was agitated to find Leanne busy serving a customer, such was his impatience to find out the truth. All he could do was lean up against the counter by the front window and wait.

"What do you want?" Leanne shot him a dirty look the moment her customer had left the shop.

"That's friendly."

"What do you expect, Nick?"

"Fine," Nick said. "If you're not interested, I'll let you find out the hard way, shall I?"

Nick turned to go, his hand on the door handle, when Leanne called him back.

"Wait," she capitulated with a sigh. "Tell me, what's the big secret?"

"I don't know, that's the point."

"Stop being so damn cryptic and tell me why you're here."

"Where's Peter?"

"What? Are you worried he'll toss you out on the street if he catches you in here? Because I can do that just as well as him."

"I'm sure you can," Nick said, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of Leanne physically throwing him into the street. "What I mean is, do you know where Peter is? Right at this moment?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Leanne shrugged. "He's gone to a meeting."

"What sort of meeting?"

"What's it to you?"

"What sort of meeting?" Nick repeated his question, more urgently this time.

"To his support group if you must know."

"Then why did I just see him drive away with Carla? And why is Carla not answering her phone?"

* * *

Peter glanced across at Carla as he drove; her gaze was fixed on the blur of the landscape that was speeding past the passenger-side window, but her eyes were unseeing, her senses unfeeling; all her thoughts were on the woman they were rushing to visit before it was too late.

"Do you get down to see her often?" Peter asked.

"No," Carla shook her head. "Almost never."

"I guess you're a busy woman," Peter observed. "You don't get much free time."

"Even if I had all the free time in the world, I wouldn't want to see her," Carla confessed. "Does that make me a terrible person? A terrible daughter at the very least."

"I'm sure you've got your reasons."

"You put too much faith in me being a good person."

"That's because you are."

"I'm not," Carla dared disagree with him. "Trust me on that."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Peter said. "Even though you are wrong."

"Maybe," Carla shrugged. "But, umm… as for reasons, yes, I've got reasons for staying away."

"Am I allowed to ask?"

"She wasn't what you would call a natural mother."

"Go on," Peter urged her.

"I'm not sure what was worse," Carla said. "Me and Rob – he's me little brother – us being left to our own devices while she was off drinking herself stupid or pushing that damn pram around the estate."

"Pram?"

"She thought the coppers wouldn't notice if she had a pram."

"Notice what?"

"That pram was her little… centre of operations you could call it," Carla laughed bitterly at the memory. "She sold drugs from that pram."

"Oh, Carla."

"I think that was actually better than the alternative," Carla mused. "Much better than when she, or should I say better than when her latest bloke paid us kids attention. That was… well, that was a lot worse."

"Carla, I'm–"

But Peter's expression of sympathy with Carla's childhood plight was cut short by his phone ringing. Carla couldn't help but glance at his screen: Leanne.

"Do you want to pull over and talk to her?" Carla asked. "To Leanne?"

"No," Peter shook his head.

"Peter, she's your wife," Carla insisted. "I don't mind."

"I said no," Peter reiterated. "We're talking about you right now. Leanne can wait."

* * *

Nick watched Leanne closely as she tried to get through to Peter on his mobile. The sharp intake of breath and the set of her jaw as she lowered the phone from her ear told Nick everything he needed to know.

"No answer?" he asked her, his eyebrow raised.

"No answer," Leanne confirmed. "That doesn't mean anything."

"It doesn't look good."

"I can't think like that," Leanne said. "I have to believe that Peter's genuine in wanting our marriage to work. We're trying for a baby for god's sake!"

"You're what?" Nick was taken aback.

"Oh," Leanne realised she'd said too much. "Yeah, we're trying to get pregnant."

"Right."

"So, you see, Peter wouldn't jeopardise what we've got."

"Isn't it a strange time to try for a baby?"

"Me and Peter have been together for years," Leanne pointed out. "It's a natural progression to have a baby."

"Right after you hear about me and Carla having a baby?"

"That's got nothing to do with it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Leanne said, her frustration beginning to show. "Now, if you've got nothing else to add."

"Just this," Nick said. "Think about everything that's happened between those two. How Carla pursued him, relentlessly, how he lied to you about her identity, how he protected her. And now they've disappeared somewhere together. If that doesn't make you question everything, then… I don't know, Lea, I really don't."

"It sounds to me like you're the one with the trust issues in your relationship, Nick," Leanne observed. "Please don't push them onto me and my relationship with Peter. I trust Peter unreservedly, without question. So please, take your paranoid delusions somewhere else, I've got no time for them."

"Fine," Nick gave up the fight. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

"She's ready to see you now," the community nurse informed Carla as she exited Sharon Donovan's bedroom.

"How is she?" Carla asked. "I mean, does she look…?"

"She is dying, if that's what you're asking," the nurse confirmed. "She refused to go to a hospice when she was well enough to be moved. It's too late for that now, so all we can do is make her comfortable."

"Okay," Carla nodded in understanding. "Thank you. Oh, gosh," Carla gasped, turning to Peter. "I'm not sure I'm ready."

"Take your time," he encouraged her.

"Time's one thing we don't have, Peter!" she rebuked him. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"I know," he said, reaching out and cupping her face in the palm of his hand. "It's okay."

"Will you come in with me?" Carla asked him, her eyes full of silent entreaty that he found difficult to resist.

"I'm not sure…"

"Please, Peter," Carla pleaded with him. "I can't do this on my own. You don't have to talk to her or even get close to her, just… please be there. For me?"

How could Peter resist? "Of course I'll be there for you," he said, taking hold of her hand and leading her towards the bedroom door. "Come on, you can do this."

* * *

Carla and Peter stood at the entrance to Sharon's bedroom and stared at the woman lying on the bed; the shrunken, gaunt woman, her rattled breath wheezing out of her mouth, and her skin almost translucent as her life slowly ebbed away.

"If ya comin' in, then come in," Sharon croaked her command from her sick bed.

Carla let go of Peter's hand and took those few steps to her mother's bedside, pulling up the nearby chair and sitting gingerly on it, facing the woman who, for better or worse, raised her to become this woman she had turned into.

"Hi, mum."

"Mum?" Sharon wheezed. "What are ya callin' me mam for? Who are ya?"

"It's me, mum," Carla tried not to feel hurt by her mum lack of recognition, but the sentiment couldn't help but sting. "It's Carla."

"Oh," Sharon sighed, disappointed. "What do you want?"

"I heard you weren't feeling well," Carla explained. "So I thought I'd come see you."

"Not feelin' well?" Sharon laughed, a hoarse retching sound that died in her throat. "Don't be pussy-footing around, girl, I'm dyin'. No use tryin' ta cover it up no more."

"I'm sorry, mum."

"Is that Paul lurkin' in the corner," Sharon said, her eyes fixed on Peter. "I dunno what he wants comin' round 'ere for, never liked him, he always was a shady character."

"No, mum, that's not Paul." Carla corrected her. "Paul, he died, don't you remember?"

"Hmmpf!" Sharon snorted. "Good riddance. You should never have got involved with those Connors. Up themselves, the whole lot of 'em."

"Listen, mum," Carla said, deciding to change the subject before she lost her cool. "I've got some good news. You're going to be a grandmother."

"You stupid girl," Sharon sneered. "Gettin' yourself up the stick, I thought I taught you better than that."

"You're not happy about the baby?"

"You shoulda got rid of it."

"What?"

"You shoulda let the Donovan line die out with you and ya brother. Nothin' but bad blood."

Carla dropped her head, she couldn't believe what she was hearing, that her mother was rejecting her own grandchild, Carla's precious baby. Her hand reached instinctively to the small bump that protruded from her belly as if the gesture would serve to protect her baby from the brutality of her mother's words.

"Where's my Rob?" Sharon's bravado seemed to dissipate as her thoughts turned to her son. "Is he here?"

"No, mum," Carla swallowed hard before continuing. "He's in prison, remember?"

"Prison? No, no, not my Rob."

"It's okay, mum," Carla tried to soothe her mother, who was becoming highly agitated, her breathing irregular, and her limbs jerking about underneath the bed covers. "Peter!" Carla hissed at him. "Go get the nurse."

"I want Rob," Sharon gasped. "My son."

"Please try to calm down."

"No!" Sharon raised her arm and feebly tried to swat Carla away. "Get away from me!"

"Mum!"

"You bring Rob to me," she demanded. "You hear me! I want Rob!"

"What are you getting yourself all worked up for, hmm?" the nurse breezed into the room, immediately taking charge with her cool, efficient manner. "You need to rest, Sharon. There's a good girl."

"Rob," Sharon whimpered. "My boy."

"Yes, I know."

Carla backed away from the scene, staring in horror at the change in her mother from the strong woman she had once known, to a woman so weak, her body decaying and her mind not far behind, that all hope for recovery had long faded. But one thing had remained the same. She had the same vicious tongue, the same cruel way of inflicting pain with her words. Carla wanted to run away from this room, from this house, and never look back. But she couldn't deny her flesh and blood her dying wish.

* * *

Peter watched from his position in the driver's seat as Carla paced up and down the short front walk of her mother's house, talking animatedly into her phone. Up and down she walked, on that cold concrete path, with a rusted wire fence separating her mother's front garden from the neighbour's garden, the garden itself consisting of an area of compacted patchy grass and earth, with garbage bins given pride of place amidst the scraggly weeds and bramble vines that choked the area.

Having finished her phone call, Carla opened the car door and sunk into the passenger seat with a sigh.

"How'd you go?" Peter asked her.

"After I'd explained the extenuating circumstances, you know, what with mum dying, he was very sympathetic. He couldn't give any promises but, fingers crossed they let Rob out of jail tomorrow sometime, with an armed guard of course, handcuffs, the lot, to come and say his goodbyes."

"That sounds promising."

"Yeah, because seeing my mother wasn't bad enough, now I've got to deal with my useless brother as well."

"How're you feeling about that?"

"Just dandy, Peter, flaming dandy. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I umm… I really, I'm sorry, I just, I don't wanna talk about it right now. Listen, I have to hang around to make sure everything goes smoothly tomorrow, so I'll drop you off at the train station so you can get home, if that's okay? I'm gonna book into a local hotel."

"Whoa!" Peter protested. "Not so quickly. There's no way I'm leaving you here on your own."

"You can't stay."

"Why not?"

"What about Leanne?"

"Lea will understand," he assured her. "Actually, I better give her a call now and let her know what's going on."

"Okay," Carla couldn't help but smile at Peter's insistence on staying with her and was relieved she wouldn't be facing her mum and her brother on her own. "I better book two rooms then. And Peter?"

"Mmm hmm?" Peter glanced up at her as he placed his call to his wife.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Peter!" Leanne cried into the phone. "Where the hell are you? … You're where? Or should I say with who? … No, Peter, it's not okay … I don't care what's happened, you do not run off with another woman– … That's exactly what it looks like … Well, why didn't she call Nick? … Because you were there? No … No! Don't you dare, Peter! … I can't believe you're doing this to me, to us. And with that woman! … I don't care if her mum's dying … No, Peter, I didn't mean … Peter? Peter! … Dammit!" Leanne cursed as she hung up the phone.

* * *

"Knock knock," Peter announced his arrival in Carla's hotel room, wandering in through the door, left open to allow access for the room service trolley.

"Oh, hey," Carla greeted him. "Perfect timing, the food's just arrived."

"Is there anything else I can get you, madam?" the room service attendant asked.

"No, thank you," Carla said before handing over a tip and dismissing him with a curt "Have a good night."

Peter closed the door behind the attendant and hurried back inside to join Carla.

"This looks good," he said, his eyes devouring the food laid out in front of them.

"Are you sure you're fine eating in here?" Carla asked, her gaze sweeping across the room, conscious they were alone in what was her bedroom for the night. "It's just, I'm not really up to going out to a restaurant. Not tonight."

"This is perfect."

* * *

Leanne pushed open the bistro door with as much force as she could muster, relishing the bang it made as it slammed against the wall.

"Where's Nick?" she demanded from the bar staff, who simply stared at her, taken aback by her aggressive demeanour. "Well?"

"I'll take care of this," Nick dismissed his staff before turning to Leanne and addressing her in a calm, measured voice. "Do you mind not making a scene in my bistro?"

"Have you heard from Carla?" Leanne ignored his plea, her voice raised as she demanded answers.

"My, how the tables have turned," Nick sneered. "Wasn't it only hours ago that I was asking you the exact same question about Peter?"

"Have," Leanne repeated, "you heard from that slag of a girlfriend?"

"Oi!" Nick rebuked her. "Do not talk about Carla like that."

"The truth hurts," Leanne muttered.

"As a matter of fact, I have heard from her. She's had a family emergency and has to stay away overnight."

"Guess who she's staying with?" Leanne asked. "My husband."

* * *

"Here you go," Peter said as he handed Carla a mug of steaming chocolatey-brown liquid. "Hot chocolate, made just like, well… just like Simon has it. Which means you'll probably hate it."

"I'm sure it's fine," Carla said, taking a sip and grimacing slightly. "Sweet and milky. Perfect."

"You don't have to–"

"No, it's alright," Carla reassured him. "It's kinda comforting in a way, having something that brings back childhood memories. I mean, not memories of our house, obviously. But from when I would visit Chelle."

"A home away from home?"

"Something like that, yeah," Carla nodded, as memories came flooding back to her. "That is, until I took up with Paul. That was a step too far for Helen, my _former_ mother-in-law, thank goodness. Being a friend of her daughter was one thing, but marrying her eldest son and actually becoming a part of the family, that was another thing entirely."

"I'm sorry today brought so many bad memories back to you," Peter said. "For what it's worth, I thought what she said to you, well, it was unforgivable. A mother doesn't speak to her child like that. Never."

"Now you know why I stayed away so long."

"I don't blame you at all."

"Listen, Peter," Carla turned to face Peter, twisting her body around on the sofa so she could look directly in his eyes. "You have no idea how much it meant to me, you being here with me today. You're a true friend, you are, much better than I deserve."

"Hey!" Peter interjected. "Don't put yourself down."

"I'm not," Carla said. "I'm just… I'm saying thank you, and…"

But Carla couldn't finish her thought; instead she looked at Peter, and he looked at her. And she couldn't help but lean forward, just as she had so many times in the past when she was desperately trying to seduce Peter. But this time was different. This time she wasn't trying to seduce Peter. Whatever this was, it was happening naturally. And consensually, because there was no doubt about it, Peter was not saying no, not this time.

As their lips brushed together ever so lightly, a mere graze, a fleeting contact, Carla felt an unfamiliar fluttering in her belly.

"I'm sorry," she gasped as she pulled away from Peter. "We can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Because," Carla replied, her hand resting on her bump. "I'm carrying another man's baby."

"Oh…" Peter's heart sank as he fully realised the finality of that statement. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I should go to bed," Peter announced. "In my own room. Obviously."

"Yeah, that's probably for the best."

As their eyes met and lingered, their willpower faltered, but did not fail; they remained resolute to the bitter end.

"I'll, umm…" Peter stammered. "I'll go then."

"Okay."

Peter rose to his feet and padded softly towards the door, turning back to Carla as he rested his hand on the door handle, ready to leave her alone.

"Carla?" he called out to her one last time.

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry."

"Me too."

* * *

"Are you still here?"

"No," Leanne snarked. "I'm a figment of your imagination. Of course, I'm here, we've got things to talk about."

"No, we really don't," Nick shook his head as he went about his nightly shutdown tasks. "Anyway, don't you have to get home for Simon?"

"He's having a sleepover at one of his pals."

"Right."

"I wonder what they're doing right now?" Leanne mused.

"Who? Simon and his mates?"

"No! Carla and Peter."

"Stop torturing yourself with what ifs," Nick advised her. "They're not helping you, and they're certainly not helping me."

"But Nick, you know how she felt about him and, even though he denied it, I know he felt something for her. And, what's more, I know he hasn't completely forgiven me for… you know. So, what if this is his revenge?"

"He had his revenge at your blessing, remember?" Nick said. "Besides, that's all in the past now. Like you said, you're trying for a baby, he's not going to mess things up now."

"But…" Leanne couldn't give it up just yet. "This isn't fair! I gave up everything to commit to him. To him and his son. I deserve more than him running off and spending the night with another woman, however innocent it is. He should be home with me."

"What do you mean," Nick stopped and turned to face Leanne. "You gave up everything?"

"Umm…" Leanne scrambled to recover from her faux pas. "Nothing, forget I said anything."

"I can't," Nick shook his head and, moving around the bar to where Leanne was sat on a barstool, reached out and took her hand in his. "Tell me what you meant."

"I meant," Leanne looked up into Nick's eyes and couldn't lie any longer. "I gave you up."

"You said everything."

"I meant you."

Moving as one, as if drawn together by some supernatural force, uncontrollable, undeniable, they came together, their bodies pressed against each other's, their arms entwined around necks, fingers raking through hair, lips sweeping against lips, all thoughts of errant husbands and girlfriends forgotten, their only thought was of what they'd long before given up and were now reclaiming.


	18. Week 18: Family Ties - Part II

**Week 18: Family Ties – Part II**

Carla glanced at her watch, tapping its face impatiently, and then towards the front door of her mother's house.

"They should be here by now," she said. "What if they've changed their mind?"

"Then they would've called you," Peter did his best to reassure her. "Try to relax, hmm?"

"That's easy for you to say," Carla snapped. "It's not you what's facing up to your criminal brother for the first time in years while your mother lies dying in the next room."

"I know," he placated her.

"Then can you please stop talking about it?"

"Okay."

"Good!"

An awkward silence fell. Peter glanced at Carla, hesitant to speak in case he further provoked her, while she stood, arms folded, chewing on her lip, as the guilt worked on her, prodding her to break the silent deadlock.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's okay."

"I'm just…"

"It's fine." Peter lapsed into silence again, debating within himself whether or not he should give voice to the thoughts swirling through his mind. "Listen, umm…" Peter decided to speak. "Do we need to talk about last night?"

"Last night?" Carla turned a quizzical gaze on Peter.

"Yeah, you know," he stammered, a half smile playing on his lips at the memory. "When we, umm, you know, almost kissed."

"Yes," she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, as in you want to talk about it?"

"No!" Carla clarified. "I mean, yes, I know. And, no, I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you sure?"

"What is there left to say that hasn't already been said?" Carla shrugged. "We can't change things."

"Can't we?" Peter asked hopefully. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Carla asked incredulously, placing her hand on her belly as if to underscore her words. "Because of this one. It changed everything, Peter. It changed me."

"Yeah, I can tell," Peter gazed at her, a protective mother if ever he saw one, the admiration for the woman she had become clear in his eyes.

"Is that a motor?" Carla said, standing up and walking to the front window to get a better view. "It's them."

"See," Peter said. "What did I tell you."

"I don't know if I can do this," gasped a suddenly panicked Carla. "I don't know if I can face him."

"You'll be fine," Peter reassured her.

"No, Peter," Carla shook her head. "I can't do this."

"I'll be here with you the whole time," he promised her in that low soothing voice that, at any other time, would've made her go weak for him. "Okay? You can do this. Carla, you can do anything."

"It's too late now anyway," Carla observed sombrely, opening the front door and watching as two prison guards filed down the narrow path and into the house, a prisoner shackled between them. "I can't escape now. Hi, Rob," Carla greeted her brother warmly. "It's really good to see you. I wasn't sure they were gonna let you out."

"Well, how could they deny me seeing me own mum on her deathbed," Rob couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "Knowing how devoted I was to her. The only real surprise is that you're here, that you deigned to lower yourself and be seen in this neighbourhood."

"That's not fair," Carla defended herself, taken aback at her brother's instant hostility.

"You do know there's nothing worth inheriting, don't ya?"

"That's not why –"

"Who's this then, ey?" Rob interrupted her, eyeing up Peter. "The latest sucker you plan on bleeding dry. I heard ya killed off the last one."

"Peter's a friend."

"Peter's a friend," Rob repeated, his tone brazenly mocking her. "Face it, sis, you don't do friends."

"Can we please not do this today?" Carla pleaded. "This is about mum."

"When did you ever care about mum?" Rob sneered. "You couldn't wait to get away from her, from us."

"I got married, Rob," Carla cried, her frustration with her brother clear. "That's what happens when people get married, they move away from home."

"Yeah, and you never looked back, did you? Never bothered to check on her, make sure she had what she needed."

"I helped her out when I could. You know I did."

"You helped her out?" Rob growled. "I helped her out, Carla. _I_ did. I was the one who risked everything to make sure she had a roof over her head. Not you, swanning about playing lady muck. Tossing your spare change at us peasants."

"Enough!" Peter's voice boomed. "That's enough. You two stop your squabbling right now. Rob, I think your mother would like to see you."

* * *

"He's been in there for ages," Carla said, staring at the closed door of her mother's bedroom, wondering what was happening inside that room.

"Yeah, well, they've probably got a lot of catching up to do," Peter pointed out.

"More than she had with me at any rate."

"Don't take it personally."

"How else am I meant to take it?" Carla rounded on him before immediately backing down. "I'm sorry, Peter, I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"It's okay," he shrugged. "It's what I'm here for."

"I'm sorry you had to see us like that before, going at each other like a cat and dog."

"Don't apologise," Peter laughed it off. "It's what brothers and sisters do, innit?"

"I guess so."

"You should see me and Tracy when we get going."

"I can imagine," Carla laughed.

"Carla," Rob's voice, soft and gentle now, called out to his sister from their mum's open bedroom door. "She wants to see you."

Carla's eyes, suddenly full of fear and panic, sought out Peter's.

"Go," he encouraged her, grabbing her hand momentarily and giving it a friendly squeeze.

Carla smiled weakly at him and followed her brother into the bedroom, glancing askance at the two armed officers attempting to blend into the background as they stood guard, acutely aware of their unwelcome intrusion on the intensely private scene unfolding in front of them.

"Carla," a hoarse and feeble cry came from the bed. "Is that … Carla?"

Carla stared across the dimly lit room towards the bed in shock and horror at the sight of her mother who, in less than a day, had shrunken even further into herself, her skin stretched even tighter over her bones, making her seem no more than a living skeleton.

"Carla," she cried again.

"I'm here, mum," Carla sobbed as she hurried to the bedside of the dying woman.

"Carla," her voice was weak, no more than a whisper. She reached out to her daughter, her hand flailing blindly above the blankets that covered her, desperate for a human touch. Carla grabbed hold of her mother's hand and held it gently between her own, providing a warmth that the old woman's body failed to give.

"Yes, mum."

"You," she spoke slowly, pausing every few words to catch her breath. "Were a … difficult child."

"I know, mum."

"Stubborn," she wheezed. "Strong … beautiful."

"Mum," Carla's voice was unnaturally high, little more than a squeak, as she struggled to keep her emotions under control.

"You'll be a … good mum … better than me … Rob!" she gasped his name urgently. "My hand."

Rob grasped his mother's other hand in his and sat by her bedside, his sister sat opposite him and, united as a family, they kept silent vigil as what little life remained in Sharon Donovan quietly ebbed away.

And there, in that dingy bedroom, in that shabby house of decay on that miserable sink estate, a life of chaos and confusion passed quite peacefully from this world and into the next.

* * *

"So," Rob said, feigning normality as if their mother was not at that very moment lying dead in the next room. "You're having a baby?"

"Yeah," Carla smiled, her hand instinctively reaching for her belly. "You're gonna be an uncle."

"That's great," Rob smiled at her for the first time. "I'm really pleased for you.

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry," he added. "For the things I said earlier."

"No, I'm sorry," Carla cut him off. "I didn't realise, I didn't think that she needed me. That you both did. I was so selfish. If I could go back…"

"It's too late now," Rob dismissed her regrets, the bitterness creeping back into his voice. "Too late for me anyway."

"The van's ready," one of the prison guards announced. "Time to say your goodbyes."

"I'll come visit you," Carla promised. "We can keep in touch this time."

"No," Rob refused to even entertain the idea. "I don't want you in there. Just promise me one thing, will ya?"

"Anything."

"Be the kind of mother that we never had."

Carla rushed to Rob and, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him in close, embracing him as if it were the last time she would ever see him, solemnly whispered to him, "I promise".

"It's time to go."

Carla clung to Rob as long as they would let her while he was shackled and lead away from the house to the waiting van. And then, left alone now, her mother dead and her brother locked up, Carla felt her defences quickly crumble and come crashing down. The tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks and her chest heaved with the sobs that wracked them.

"Come here," Peter murmured, wrapping Carla up in his arms and holding her close. "Shhhh… It's okay, it's gonna be okay."

"I wanna go home," Carla sobbed, her face buried in the warm comforts of Peter's chest. "Please take me home."

* * *

Carla unlocked the door to her flat and walked inside; she looked about the room as if she had never seen it before. So much had happened since yesterday morning when she had started her day here with no expectations other than working her staff at the factory hard, of meeting deadlines and fulfilling orders. But everything had changed since then.

"You must be exhausted," Peter observed as he followed her inside.

"I think I've gone way beyond exhaustion," Carla admitted, slumping down into the soft cushions of the sofa with a sigh. "Shouldn't you be getting home?"

"I'll grab a taxi when I'm sure that you're okay."

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, sitting down next to Carla and facing her inquisitively. "You've just been through something huge and traumatic."

"I'm sure," Carla tried to convince him with a weak smile. "Thank you, by the way. For being there with me, being there for me. I won't ever forget it."

"Where else would I be, hey?"

"At home with your wife?"

"She'll understand," Peter lied.

"No, Peter, she won't. You know she won't."

"Well, that's too bad," Peter shrugged. "Because there was no way I was letting you go through that on your own."

"You're a good man, Peter Barlow."

Carla smiled at him. Instinctively, he leaned in towards her and she to him, his eyes focused on hers, the feeling of her breath sweet on his cheek.

"Even after what I tried to do last night?" he breathed.

"What did you try to do?" Carla couldn't resist teasing him.

"When I tried to kiss you, seduce you?"

"Is that what you were trying to do? Seduce me?"

"I think I might have been, yes."

"We can't, Peter."

"Can't we?"

"No," Carla shook her head decisively. "You know why."

"Yeah, I do," Peter sighed. "And if it was any other reason…"

"I know."

"I wish we could, I dunno, pretend, just for one moment, that we could."

"Just one moment?"

"Just one."

Carla leaned in closer to Peter and pressed her lips against his, while her hands reached up and snaked around his neck, her fingers raking gently through his hair. Momentarily dumbfounded by Carla's unexpected kiss, Peter soon recovered, responding with passion, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her body in close to his, his lips grazing against hers as they parted and his tongue swept over her lips and darted into her mouth.

"Oh!" Carla gasped, pulling away from Peter's embrace, her hand flying to her tummy.

"What's wrong?"

"The baby," Carla cried, her voice breaking with emotion, her face lit up with pure joy. "The baby's kicking."

"Oh my god!" Peter exclaimed, their kiss completely forgotten as the wonder of the baby's kicks consumed them both. "Can I?"

"Of course," Carla said, grabbing hold of Peter's hand and guiding it to the right place on her bump. "Can you feel it?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, grinning at the strange sensation of having Carla's bump move under his touch. "That's amazing."

"What's going on here?"

Carla and Peter looked up in unison, startled, staring at the open front door of the flat where Nick was standing, framed by the doorway, glaring down at the pair of them as they sat, huddled close together, Peter's hand on Carla's bump.

"Quickly," Carla urged Nick to join them. "The baby's kicking."

"You're joking!" Nick appeared stunned.

"Come on!"

As Nick rushed over to Carla, Peter removed his hand from her body and stepped back, watching on as the two expectant parents came together, bonding over the new life they had created together.

"I'll leave you to it," Peter said, edging towards the door. "I'll call a taxi from downstairs."

"Okay," Nick instantly dismissed him without another look.

"Thank you again, Peter," Carla called out to Peter as he pulled open the door. "For everything, I'm so grateful to you."

"Any time." Peter stood there for a moment and, with a sinking heart, took a last look at something beautiful that he had no share in. "Bye."

"I can't believe this," Nick enthused, a broad grin on his face, with no further thought of the man that had just left. "He's really kicking."

"He?" Carla raised her eyebrow. "Could be a she."

"He, she, doesn't matter," Nick declared. "All I know is that this one's gonna be a world class football player at this rate."

"Hey, you don't mind, do you?" Carla asked nervously. "That Peter got to feel it kicking before you?"

"I'm not gonna lie," Nick admitted. "I wish it was me, but no, I don't begrudge Peter being here. I mean, it's not like you planned it that way, did you?"

"No," Carla shook her head with a laugh. "Hardly."

"Well then, I guess there's no harm done."

"You're here now, that's the main thing."

"I wish I could've been there for you with your mum," Nick said. "Carla, I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry I ran out on you like that. I wasn't trying to shut you out or anything, I just… I wasn't thinking about anything except getting to her before…"

"I know," he nodded sympathetically. "I understand."

"So, did you manage to keep yourself out of trouble while I was gone?" Carla joked.

"Oh, you know boring old me," he laughed self-consciously. "I was at the bistro the whole night."

"You work too hard," Carla gently rebuked him. "You need to save your energy for when baby arrives and you're up all night."

"Hang on," Nick protested. "What do you mean, when I'm up all night? What exactly will you be doing?"

"I'm growing this baby, don't forget. I think I'll be due for a nice long rest as soon as it's born."

"Yeah, you're right," Nick conceded, wrapping his arms around Carla and pulling her in for a hug. "You deserve it."

"So, is that a guarantee?"

"What?"

"You agreeing to do all the night-time nappy changes?"

"Umm…" Nick floundered, trying unsuccessfully to find an escape clause. "Fine, yes. I will do all of the nappy changes in the night."

"You hear that, baby," Carla spoke excitedly to her bump. "Daddy's gonna stay up with you all night while mummy sleeps."

* * *

Peter took a deep breath at the top of the stairs, hesitating before he dared open the front door of his and Leanne's flat, knowing full well what would be waiting for him inside and not prepared in the slightest to face it, to face her.

"Peter?" Leanne called out to him. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," he said, plastering on a smile as he walked in. "You on your own? Where's Si?"

"He's having his tea at Ken and Deirdre's," Leanne said. "So it's just you and me."

"Right."

A silence filled with unspoken recriminations and explanations fell over them, with both husband and wife pointedly avoiding each other's gaze. And then they both spoke at once.

"Lea–"  
"Peter–"

"I'm sorry," Leanne laughed.

"No, I'm sorry," Peter said with a chuckle. "What were you going to say?"

"No, you go first," Leanne said. "I insist."

"Okay," Peter took a deep breath. "I am sorry I took off like that without talking to you first. But you didn't see her, Lea, you didn't see how upset she was, she was in no state to drive. What else could I do?"

"I don't know, Peter," Leanne shook her head. "Maybe put your family first? Maybe spare a thought for how your actions would make me feel?"

"She died, you know?"

"Who?"

"Carla's mum."

"I'm sorry about that, but–"

"No, Lea," Peter interrupted her. "You can't make me feel guilty about this because I know I did the right thing. Because, and I know you don't like this, but Carla is a friend of mine, a good friend. And in that moment, she needed help, some support, which I was happy to give her. I hope I would do the same for any of my friends."

"I guess–"

"You know what, Lea? If you gave her another chance, maybe she could be your friend as well."

"I'll try," Leanne promised in a subdued voice. "I really will."

"Thank you," Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "So, tell me, what did you get up to while I was away?"

"Oh, nothing much," Leanne shrugged. "Spent the night in me jim jams watching the telly."

"Living the high life, were ya?"

"Well, what else was there to do with you out of town?"

"I'm back now, so why don't we make up for lost time?"

"Do you mean…?"

"We won't have to pick up Simon for another hour at least," Peter said as he looked at his watch and then up at his wife, the suggestion in his eyes clear. "What d'ya say, Mrs Barlow?"

* * *

Carla quietly closed the door behind her and, wrapping her warmest robe snugly around her body, stepped out onto the balcony.

Leaning against the railings, she looked out onto the dark night sky that hung over Weatherfield, at the stars twinkling in the blackness, and thought about everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

She thought about the mother she had rarely thought of or visited who was now gone forever. And the brother who, bitter and jaded with life, was as good as dead to her.

"It's just you and me, kiddo," she spoke softly, her hand resting on her bump. "We're the only family we've got left. You, me and daddy. I didn't have that when I was growing up, you know. A family, a proper family. With a mum and a dad and… and love and that feeling, you know, of being safe. It's gonna be different for you, I promise you that. You will have a mummy and a daddy who both love you to the moon and back. A family that will be there for you, all the time. No part-time daddy for you. No, you're gonna get better than me. Nothing else matters. Nothing."


	19. Week 19: Away from it all

**Week 19: Away from it all**

"What are we doing here?" Carla asked as she peered out of the car window at the country house hotel Nick had just pulled up in front of, gazing up at the imposing façade, the honey-coloured Bath stone structure gleaming in the morning sun.

"I just thought," Nick explained, "With all the stress you've been under lately, your mum passing and the funeral yesterday, you could do with a weekend away. Somewhere we could relax and unwind."

"We're staying here?"

"Yes," Nick nodded. "Unless of course you don't want to?"

"I do, I do," Carla affirmed. "I just… it's unexpected is all. Thank you."

Carla leaned over to where Nick was sat in the driver's seat and planted on his lips a quick peck of thanks.

"You deserve the break."

"Hang on," Carla protested. "I don't have anything with me. Change of clothes, shoes…"

"No need to worry, I packed a bag for you."

"Did you now?"

"Well, I didn't want to spoil the surprise, did I?"

"Are you saying…" Carla asked with the merest hint of a grin. "That you rummaged through my knicker drawer?"

"I did," he confessed. "I hope to later as well."

"Cheeky."

* * *

"Why don't you have a seat while I check us in," Nick suggested as they stepped into the entrance hall, with its vaulted ceilings lined with polished oak, its soaring arched windows fitted with brightly coloured and decorated panes of glass, and its two grand staircases, sweeping up to meet in the middle on the first-floor landing above.

As he ushered her towards the lounge area that flanked one wall of the lobby, a horrifyingly familiar voice called out to them.

"Yoo hoo!"

Carla and Nick both turned slowly on the spot to face what was frankly their worst nightmare at that moment in time.

"There you are," Gail cooed as she hurried towards the pair with Audrey, David and Kylie bringing up the rear. "We thought you'd got lost."

"Mum," Nick gasped, trying to regain control over his tongue. "What are you… What are you doing here?"

"Well, when you told me what you were planning, I thought why not make it a family getaway."

"That's, umm…" Carla stared at Gail, her eyes wide with shock. "Nice. Isn't that nice, Nick?" Carla turned her gaze on Nick, silently imploring him to do something.

"Yeah," Nick stammered, wholly ineffectual. "Very nice."

"So we're all agreed then," David added, unable to keep the smirk from his face. "It's nice?"

"Of course it's nice," Gail said as she stepped towards Carla. "Look at you," she gushed as she placed her hand on Carla's baby bump. "You're really showing now, aren't you? Hello, baby, it's granny Gail, mwah mwah mwah, yes it is!"

* * *

"Spending the weekend with your family is not exactly my idea of de-stressing," Carla said as she unpacked her overnight bag, placing the clothes Nick had packed for her in the wardrobe of their plush suite, decorated to suit the period of the house, with exquisitely carved floral details on the bedhead of the French tester bed and its domed canopy, from which heavy embroidered drapes hung all the way to the floor, Chippendale era polished mahogany and sateen brocade upholstered armchairs, and Hepplewhite inspired yew-wood side tables. But, when she pulled out a lacy barely-there thong from the bag, she held it in the air as if it was incriminating evidence found at a murder scene. "Really? This is what you decided to pack?"

"What? You look dead sexy in that."

"That's not the… doesn't matter. We were talking about your family invading our weekend away."

"I know," Nick shook his head. "I'm sorry, but what could I do? I couldn't exactly ask them to leave."

"Why not?"

"Look, I know it's not ideal but…" Nick shrugged. "They're here now. Why don't we make the best of it and I'll take you away, just the two of us, another time?"

"Hmm…" Carla considered him with narrowed eyes. "Don't tell anyone what you're planning next time, okay?"

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson."

"And you better make that a long weekend, none of this overnight business."

"We could make it a week if you like?"

"Why not two?"

"Deal," Nick said with a smile. "So, does that mean I'm forgiven and you're going to at least try and have a good time this weekend?"

Carla sighed despondently but, on seeing Nick's face, knowing of his desire for everyone to get along, even if they had to pretend, she capitulated completely.

"Yes," she said. "I will have a good time. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Can you please stop your mother from touching me," she asked, motioning towards her bump.

"I'll have a word," he promised.

"Thank you."

"So, are you ready to go downstairs and face them again?"

Carla took a deep breath in, letting it all out with a long sigh.

"You owe me, Tilsley," she said. "You owe me big time."

* * *

"I was looking at the brochures at reception earlier," Gail announced to the table as the family group ate lunch in the dining hall that was situated in the old orangery, so that diners could gaze out over the extensive hotel grounds as they ate. "I thought we could do an activity this afternoon."

"Why?" David asked, his nose screwed up in disgust at the thought of an organised family activity.

"Well, so we can bond… you know, as a family. Welcome Carla to the family."

"Can't we welcome her with a few pints in the bar?" Kylie suggested.

"We can do archery lessons," Gail said, ignoring Kylie as she flicked through the stack of brochures she had pulled from her handbag. "Or… ooh, look at this, they've got rock climbing, wouldn't that be fun?"

"Are you trying to kill us off or summat?" David asked.

"I'm with Kylie," Audrey declared. "A nice gentle stroll in the garden followed by a stiff G&T by the fire."

"Now you're talking," David congratulated his gran. "Everyone vote, who's for gran's idea?"

"But hang on a minute," Gail protested as all hands except hers were raised in the air in support of Audrey's proposition. "Surely we can do something a little more exciting than that!"

"Mum," Nick gently pleaded with his mother. "Carla's pregnant, remember? I don't think archery and rock climbing are the best things for her to be doing right now."

"Hmm…" Gail sniffed. "I guess you're right. Well, then, Carla, it looks like we'll be having a nice long walk together. We can have a good ole natter about the baby."

"Yeah," Carla said, plastering a smile on her face as Gail gazed at her expectantly. "Can't wait."

* * *

"It's like she's leading the troops into battle," Kylie whispered to Carla as they gathered in the lobby before their walk, while Gail fussed over everyone.

"Yep," Carla agreed. "She's like an unstoppable force of nature, that one."

"Are we all ready then?" Gail called out.

"Actually, Gail," Carla said, her one hand on her lower back and the other on her baby bump, rubbing it gently. "My back's a bit sore, you know, carrying this one around. Do you mind if I sit this out?"

"Oh," Gail said, her face a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "I guess if you don't feel up to it."

"Thanks, Gail."

"Why don't we all stay here with you?" Gail suggested. "We could play cards. It's been ages since we had a game of rummy."

"That's really not necessary," Carla said. "I wouldn't want everyone to miss out because of me. Maybe, I dunno, if Kylie wanted to stay and keep me company?"

"Me?" Kylie asked, surprised. "Yeah, sure."

"That's sorted then," Carla said. "Now you all go and enjoy your walk, we'll be just fine."

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Kylie asked Carla as they watched the rest of the family finally embark on their walk.

"Me?" Carla asked. "I'm perfectly fine."

"But–"

"I just wanted to get out of that walk.

"You cheeky–"

"Besides, they've got a spa here. I thought you and me could treat ourselves."

"Ahh, now you're talking my language."

* * *

"If you look over to your left," Gail said as she checked the map in her hand, reading the accompanying historical blurb. "You will see a folly built by the third baronet in the eighteenth century in the style–"

"There's just trees to the left, Gail dearie," Audrey pointed out impatiently.

"Oh," Gail looked up at the trees and then checked the map again. "Oh no, it's after we turn this next corner."

"What's a folly anyway?" David asked.

"I don't really know," Gail admitted, turning to her eldest for the answer. "Nick?"

"It's a building with no function," Nick explained. "Its whole existence is for decorative purposes only."

"Then why did they build it?" David wondered. "If it don't serve no purpose?"

"I dunno," Nick shrugged. "Because they could? Because they had the money to spare and wanted to show the whole world they could waste it on a grand scale?"

"So, what you're saying is," David said. "If you were living in the olden days, you woulda built a stupid folly instead of buying a flash motor?"

"No," Nick sneered. "Obviously I would've bought a flash horse and carriage, you numpty."

"Stop annoying your brother, David," Gail snapped.

"What–"

"Look," she stopped in her tracks, pointing out the small round stone tower that could now be seen, situated at the opposite side of a lake so placid its surface was like a mirror, while the arches of the folly crumbled under the weight of centuries. "Isn't that pretty."

* * *

"I thought you were gonna thump Gail earlier," Kylie said as she and Carla sat side-by-side in the hotel's spa while they were being treated to a pedicure. "The way she was pawing at you."

"I almost did," Carla freely admitted with a wry laugh. "If I wasn't in shock, she woulda been in trouble."

"She doesn't really do boundaries," Kylie said. "Especially where her sons are concerned."

"I've noticed."

"She's not the mother-in-law I'd have chosen, that's for sure."

"Luckily for me, she's not my mother-in-law."

"Not now."

"Not ever."

"What?" Kylie asked in disbelief. "You don't think you and Nick will get spliced some day?"

"No," Carla grimaced at the thought. "I've had quite enough of marriage, thank you very much. I'm in no hurry to rush into it again."

"You might feel differently when the baby's here."

"I don't see why," Carla shrugged. "Believe me, a piece of paper doesn't guarantee any sort of commitment. I reckon having a kid together is commitment enough."

"David's desperate to be a dad," Kylie mused.

"What? He wants you to have a baby?"

"No, I mean Max. He's still on at me to fight for custody."

"Oh," Carla was taken aback. "And what do you want?"

"You'll think I'm a total cow," Kylie sniffed in an effort to hold back the emotion that would insist on coming every time she thought about her son. "But, I don't want custody. Go on, tell me what a terrible mother I am."

"I'd never," Carla shook her head. "Why don't you want him?"

"Why? Because I've already messed him up enough."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course I love him! Don't you get it? That's why I don't want to fight for custody, because I'm not a good mother. He deserves better."

"He deserves a mum that loves him. That's it, that's all that matters. All the other stuff, that'll come with time. I have to believe that's true because… I am screwed if it's not."

"What do ya mean?"

"Because I don't know how to be a good mother," Carla shrugged. "No flaming idea. Never had one myself. My mother was… let's just say I don't know what it's like to be a child that is loved by a mother. But I know that I love my baby. And I know that I will do whatever it takes to make sure he or she is happy. And I know you will too."

* * *

"This is the life, innit?" David said as he threw stones onto the surface of the lake, watching as they skipped across the surface. "I reckon I woulda been good at this whole landed gentry lark."

"Yeah, right," Nick snorted with laughter.

"You think you woulda done better?" David sneered. "You fancy yourself as Sir Nicholas, do ya?"

"Shouldn't we get going?" Nick asked, eager to change the subject. "Catch up with mum and gran?"

"Nah," David shook his head. "I'm gonna head back to the hotel in a minute. See what Kylie's up to."

"You should've talked mum out of coming here."

"Why's that then?"

"You knew I wanted a quiet weekend away with Carla."

"What? Do we embarrass you? Hmm?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Do we embarrass you in front of your posh bird?"

"Oh, come on, David, you're being ridiculous."

"Not so posh though, getting knocked up from a one night stand, is it?"

"Hey!" Nick snapped, fronting up to David. "Don't talk about Carla like that."

"Why not?" David asked, stepping towards his brother, giving him a gentle shove. "You lot all talk crap about my wife."

"That's different," Nick retorted, returning David's shove.

"How?"

"Because," Nick faltered. "Carla's…"

"She's what?"

"Carla's different to Kylie."

"You're so up yourself, you know. You need taking down a few pegs."

"Do I now? And how are you gonna do that?"

David shoved Nick again, a wicked grin on his face. Nick shoved him back. And then they both paused, just for a moment, before they made their move.

* * *

"That," Kylie said as she and Carla wandered through the hotel's garden. "Was so good. I feel like a new woman."

"Careful," Carla laughed. "Or David might not recognise you."

"Ooh, no fear of that."

"Can you hear that?" Carla asked, pausing to listen to muffled sounds of grunting and panting. "There's no wild animals out here, is there?"

"Sounds like…" Kylie grimaced. "I dunno, someone having a little… alfresco lovin' if you know what I mean."

"Let's have a look."

"I don't wanna see that!" Kylie protested.

"Come on!" Carla grabbed a hold of Kylie's arm and dragged her off the path and through the line of trees that separated that section of the garden from the lake.

"Oh my god," Kylie gasped at the sight that met them.

"Oh jeeze, you can't leave these two alone for a minute," Carla said. "Don't mind us."

Carla and Kylie both stood and watched on in amusement as Nick and David grappled with each other as they wrestled in the dirt, neither wanting to be the first to give up the fight.

* * *

"Look at this!" Nick exclaimed as he held his trousers in the air, inspecting the grass and dirt stains that now covered them. "They're filthy!"

"Serves you right," Carla said with little sympathy for Nick's plight. "What were you thinking fighting David like that?"

"You didn't hear what he was saying."

"I really don't care. You shouldn't have taken the bait. You know what David's like, constantly pick pick pick. I've got a brother as well, don't forget. I know exactly what they're like."

"Yeah, well, he deserved it."

"If you say so," Carla muttered as she wandered into the bathroom.

_Knock knock_

"Hold on a minute!" Nick called out as he quickly pulled on a pair of clean trousers and hurried to the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Nicky love," Gail said as she pushed past Nick, followed closely by Audrey, who was gripping a bottle of wine in her hand.

"We've brought an offering," she said as she made a beeline for the small kitchenette area of the suite.

"I thought we were meeting downstairs?"

"We thought," Gail explained. "Wouldn't it be nice to drop by Nick and Carla's room for a little livener before dinner? Mam, get the glasses."

"I've got the glasses."

"Hey hey," David said as he and Kylie sauntered into the room. "Is this where the party's at?"

"Wine, David? Kylie?" Audrey asked.

"Nah, you're alright, Audrey," Kylie said. "We've brought some cans."

"What…" Carla demanded as she re-entered the room. "Is going on here?"

"We're having a party!" Gail announced. "Isn't this fun?"

"Nick," Carla hurried to confront Nick. "A party in our room?"

"What can I say?" Nick shrugged. "I come from a very close family."

"Too close if you ask me."

"Do you want me to ask them to leave?"

Carla looked across at the family, at Gail, Audrey, David and Kylie as they drank and made merry, enjoying each other's company.

"No," Carla shook her head. "They're fine. Besides, I should start getting used to having a family around that actually cares about each other. That wants to spend time with each other."

"How can you say that with a straight face after seeing me and David at each other's throats earlier?"

"You might fight and bicker and wind each other up," Carla conceded. "But you love each other really. And I know that, as much as you might try to make out that David is nothing but an irritant to you, you would do anything to protect him, help him out if he needed it, fight his battles if he couldn't. Don't try and deny it, I know you're a big softy."

"Hey, don't," Nick said. "You'll ruin my reputation as a hard-nosed businessman."

"It's already ruined with me," Carla said. "And thank goodness for that. Because baby wants a soft, cuddly daddy. And a family that's, well, mad as a box of frogs, but a family that loves each other."

"Lucky baby, hmm?"

"Very lucky baby."


	20. Week 20: Bombshell

**Week 20: Bombshell**

"Yes!" "No!"

Carla and Nick looked at each other and laughed.

"You don't want to find out the sex of the baby?" Carla asked.

"I was thinking," Nick explained. "Wouldn't it be a nice surprise if we waited."

"No, it wouldn't."

"But–"

"Nick, I need to be prepared. And it's nowt to do with what colour to paint the nursery or what babygro's to buy. It's... I can't explain it, but… I need to know. And besides, I'd like to start calling it something besides 'it'."

"Okay, that's fair enough," Nick conceded, turning to the sonographer who was waiting patiently by the side of the bed. "Yes, please, we would love to know, are we having a boy or a girl?"

* * *

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Gail pulled aside the net curtain from her front window and peered up and down the street, before turning back to check the clock on the wall.

They were late.

She'd calculated the time it would have taken for the appointment and then added the time it would have taken for them to drive back to the street. And, even if they had encountered heavy traffic, they should be back by now, she reasoned.

Something was wrong. She knew it.

She picked up the phone and made the call. His message service.

"Hi, Nick, it's mum," she put on a cheery voice while she left her son a message. "Give us a call will you and let us know... well, you know, let us know how it went and... give Carla my love. I– Oh, look, it's you, you're here! Hold on, Nicky, I'm coming outside now... bye... bye!"

Gail ended the call and rushed out onto the street, watching on eagerly as Carla guided her car onto the factory forecourt, waving to the couple as they passed her by.

"Well?" Gail asked, unsuccessfully attempting to mask her impatience, the moment Carla and Nick emerged from the car. "How did it go?"

"Everything's fine, mum," Nick said.

"And…?"

"And what?" Nick exchanged a glance with Carla and caught the hint of a smile on her lips. He knew she'd be enjoying this immensely.

"What is it?" Gail asked impatiently. "The baby! Is it a boy or a girl?"

"That's why we're having a family dinner tonight," he explained. "To make the big announcement. Seven pm. You are coming, aren't you?"

"Of course I– Carla," Gail tried her luck with the mother-to-be, imploring her for an answer. "Please."

"Oh, go on," Carla said to Nick. "Put her out of her misery."

"You do it."

"No, you. Okay." Carla turned to face Gail again and smiled, the same smile that spread across her face whenever she thought of or spoke about her baby. "We," she said, reaching out for Nick's hand. "Are having a boy."

"Oh!" Gail exclaimed. "A boy! That's wonderful!" Gail grabbed Carla and held her in a tight embrace. "A little boy. Thank you."

"You're… welcome?" Carla shrugged. "Not that I did much. I mean, I got drunk and shagged your son–"

"Carla!" Nick protested.

But it didn't matter; Gail paid neither Nick nor Carla any attention, she was fixated instead on her grandson and rubbed Carla's belly tenderly as she spoke to him.

"Hello, my darling boy," she cooed. "My handsome boy, just like your daddy."

"Carla!" Kylie called out from the steps of Underworld. "Thank goodness you're back. There's an urgent phone call for you. In the office."

Oh, thanks, Kylie," Carla said, turning her gaze downwards to where Gail was fussing over her bump. "I better…"

"You go," Nick urged. "I'll see you tonight. Mum?"

"Hmm?" Gail murmured.

"Carla has to go back to work now."

"Oh, really?" Gail sounded disappointed. "Can't you come in for a cuppa first? No? Oh, okay then. I'll let you go, but if there's anything–"

"Thanks, Gail," Carla said, her first steps towards freedom thwarted by Gail as she grabbed onto Carla's hand. "Okay…"

"I just wanted to say, Carla," Gail said sincerely, the eyes that peered up at Carla shining with joy. "That you've made me a very happy woman. My first grandson, it's so exciting."

"Yeah, isn't it," Carla said, disentangling herself from Gail with great difficulty. "I'll see you tonight. Alright then. Bye bye."

Free at last, Carla hurried to where Kylie was waiting for her and, linking their arms together, almost dragged her inside the factory.

"Who is it?" Carla asked.

"Who's what?"

"On the phone?"

"Oh, no one. Just getting you away from psycho granny out there."

"Nice move, thank you."

"So, are you gonna tell me? How did the scan go?"

"Baby is healthy," Carla smiled at the memory of seeing her son's picture on the monitor that morning. "Everything is developing just as it should be. He's, umm… he's pretty much perfect."

"He?"

"Yes, he," Carla nodded. "We're having a boy."

"Aww," Kylie gushed as she embraced Carla. "A boy. I'm so happy for you."

"Me too. Not that it matters to me, if he's a boy or a girl but, I dunno, somehow it makes everything a little more real to know it's actually a he. That he's a real person. Hey, who knows," Carla said, flashing Kylie a cheeky grin. "He could be a little playmate for Max."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Carla shrugged, feigning innocence. "I just thought, when they're older, Max could teach him how to play football, fish for tadpoles. I mean, I'd be alright with teaching him about fashion and shopping, things like that. But it'd be nice for him to have an older cousin to hang out with."

"Why are you bringing up Max?"

"No reason."

"I haven't changed my mind about Max," Kylie said. "We're not going for custody."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to change my mind."

"Why not?" Carla cried. "When you and David would make brilliant parents for that little lad."

"But–"

"That's not up for debate. It's a fact. And before you start waffling on about how you screwed up and he's better off with someone else, remember that everyone deserves a second chance."

"What about a third chance?"

"Yes, even a fourth."

* * *

Nick surveyed the bottles his bartender had laid out on the bistro's countertop, studying the individual labels closely, wanting to choose only the very best for that evening.

"I think this one for the toast," he declared. "The Louis Roederer."

"The 2008?" the bartender voiced his concern. "That's a classic vintage, very pricey."

"Which is why I want to serve it tonight."

"It's your money."

"And for Carla, I need something non-alcoholic."

"The St Regis is quite popular," the bartender suggested, placing his hand on the bottle in question.

"Hmm…" Nick considered the bottle. "What was that Spanish one? You know, the sparkling rosé?"

"Oh, yes. I remember. Let me check," he said as he crouched down in front of the champagne fridge, eventually emerging with a bottle of Espumoso Rosado in his hand. "This one?"

"Yes! Put it to one side, along with the Louis Roederer."

"Nick."

Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath; this was the last thing he needed today.

"Nick," she spoke his name again, a little firmer this time.

"I don't have time for this today," Nick said as he turned to face Leanne.

"You can't keep ignoring me," she said. "We need to talk about what happened."

"I know!" Nick snapped. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay. Look, I know we need to talk, but I can't, not today."

"What's so special about today?"

Nick shook his head, wishing, somehow, that he could simply disappear and not be forced to deal with Leanne.

"Nick?"

"If you must know, Carla had her twenty-week scan this morning, so we're having a family celebration here tonight."

"Wow. Twenty weeks already. So, you found out the sex?"

"It's a boy."

"I'm happy for you, Nick, I really am, but that doesn't change the fact that _we_ still need to talk."

"Nick!" one of the kitchen staff called out to him. "Chef wants your opinion on the duck."

"I'm sorry, I need to go," Nick said, explaining to Leanne, "I'm having chef prepare a special meal for tonight. All Carla's favourites."

"This can't wait, Nick."

"It's going to have to."

Leanne watched Nick go, inwardly seething at how easily he'd brushed her off, and hastily formulated a plan.

* * *

"There you are," Nick said, hurrying to where Carla stood waiting for him just inside the bistro's entrance. "You look amazing."

"You like?" she asked, smoothing down her dress; black of course, with a boat neckline, a belted high waist and a midi-length tulip skirt. "I couldn't resist buying something new."

"It's perfect," Nick said, kissing her softly on the cheek. "You're perfect. Come on, everyone else is already seated."

"Table for two," an all-too-familiar voice cut in before Nick and Carla could move away from the door area. "We've got a booking."

"Leanne!" Nick gasped. "Peter, sorry, I didn't realise you were eating here tonight."

"It wasn't my idea," Peter muttered.

"Right, well, hold on," Nick stammered, turning to check the night's reservations in the book.

"See," Leanne said, coming up behind him and looking over her shoulder. "That's us, right there."

"What's all this then?" Peter asked Carla. "All dressed up. You look fabulous by the way."

"Thank you," she smiled at him. "Just a little family celebration. I had my twenty-week scan today. Found out we're having a boy."

"Oh, Carla, that's great news. I'm really pleased for you."

"Thanks."

Peter wasn't sure what else to say. What else could he say to this incredible woman who was so happy to be having a baby with another man. So, he just looked at her; and she looked at him. And suddenly it was as if they were the only two people in the room, maybe even the only two people on the planet.

"What are you playing at?" Nick hissed at Leanne.

"Well, you wouldn't speak to me earlier," she shrugged nonchalantly. "This was the only way I could think of to see you."

"I've already told you, I can't do this tonight."

"Too bad," she sneered. "You better find some time to talk to me before dessert is served, or I'm telling Carla everything."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she said, holding his gaze, not backing down, before calling out for her husband. "Peter! Our table's ready."

* * *

"How's your steak?" Leanne asked Peter, breaking the silence that had descended over the couple the moment their meals had been served.

"It's a steak," he muttered. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh, cheer up, Peter," she scolded him. "You've done nothing but moan since we came out tonight."

"I don't see why we had to come in the first place. I was perfectly happy to bung those leftovers into the microwave."

"Well, I thought, since Si's at your dads, that we could have a nice romantic evening together. Only it turns out my husband is as romantic as a dead fish."

"Pardon me for wanting to relax after a hard week at work."

"So, spending time with me isn't relaxing?"

"Oh my– you twist everything I say."

"Oh my god," Leanne gasped, her gaze shifting off Peter and focusing on a nearby table. "He's never…"

"What?" Peter asked, craning his neck to see whatever had caught Leanne's attention.

"I think he's about to propose."

* * *

Carla stared in horror at Nick as he rose from his seat and kneeled in front of her; she could feel not only the eyes of his family on her, but the eyes of the entire dining room.

'Don't do it, don't do it,' she chanted in her mind. 'Please don't do it.'

But Nick, happy, smiling Nick, pulled out a small box, covered in gold embossed black leather, from his jacket pocket.

"Carla," he said, opening the box to reveal a ring. Carla couldn't afterwards recall what the ring looked like, what shape the diamond, or what metal the band; she was in complete shock, and not the pleasant kind. "A year ago, we were colleagues, running a business together and, while I admired you and respected you and, if I'm honest, fancied you, I never would have imagined that one year later we would be together, having a baby together, planning a future together as a family. Life is full of surprises, and you and our son are two of the best. I hope that we will get to experience many more in the coming years. Carla Connor, will you marry me?"

Carla stared at Nick; even if she knew what to say, she wasn't sure she was physically capable of speaking. She glanced about the room, but it was all a blur to her. Except for one face, one set of eyes, eyes that were at that moment connecting with her own. Peter.

She looked back at Nick, at the joyful expectation on his face, and felt her will weaken. How could she disappoint him? How could she break his heart? He was a good man, he deserved to be happy.

"Carla?" he repeated her name, his voice a hoarse whisper as fear and doubt started to plague him.

"Can we…" Carla gasped out the words. "Umm… can we talk in private?"

"Carla," Nick said. "It's not a difficult question."

"Please, Nick," she begged him. "Don't push me."

"Will you marry me or not?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"I thought…" Nick sniffed. "I thought we…"

"Nick, please, let's just go somewhere–"

But Nick turned and, his face set in a grim mask, stormed out through the bar area and, with a violent bang that shook the door on its hinges, into the kitchen.

"Can you believe she did that to him?" Leanne whispered to Peter. "In front of everyone. In front of his family."

"If she didn't want to marry him," Peter shrugged.

"Peter! She's having his kid!"

"So?"

"Whatever, I'm going to the loo."

"How could you do that to him?" Gail rounded on Carla. "After everything he's done for you."

"Not now, Gail."

"You can't tell me what to do, not after what you just did to Nick."

Carla bit her tongue; Gail was right, she had just hurt her son in the worst possible way, and so publicly. She had no right to be barking out orders. So, she did the only thing that she could think of. She walked away.

"Carla!" Kylie called after her. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, she's okay," Gail snapped. "Nick's the one that's not okay. I'm going after him."

"Don't you dare move," David warned her. "Give him some space."

"But–"

"David's right," Audrey said. "Let the two of them sort it out on their own."

* * *

Carla gulped in the cool night air as she slumped against the front wall of the bistro, cursing herself, cursing Nick for causing the humiliating scene that had just played out so horrifically inside. She was barely aware of the bistro door opening, nor of someone coming outside, not until they slouched casually against the wall next to her.

"Why did he have to go and ruin everything?" Carla cried, turning her head to look at Peter, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"Most people think a proposal of marriage from the father of their baby is a good thing."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

"I've noticed."

"So, what do I do now?"

"I can't answer that for you."

"Then why the hell did you come out here?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "To make sure you were okay. I mean, that's what friends are for, right?"

"Hmmpf."

"Seriously though, Carla," Peter turned to face her directly, his shoulder propped up against the wall, his eyes searching out hers. "And be honest now, if this baby didn't exist, would you and Nick even be together?"

"That's not a fair question."

"I guess I got my answer."

"Who knows how things would've worked out. But the fact is, we are having a baby, so things… things are different."

"You can't be in a relationship with someone just because you have a child together."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Peter repeated her question incredulously. "Well, because–"

"It's not like I don't love Nick. I mean, I don't not love… I have a lot of respect for Nick. And he will make a wonderful father."

"He can be a father without–"

"A full-time father," Carla insisted. "Something I never had."

* * *

"Hey."

Leanne tentatively approached Nick where he stood in the dark in the rear yard of the bistro.

"Have you come to rub salt in the wound?" he snarled at her.

"Of course not."

"Bet everyone's laughing at me in there."

"No one's laughing at you," she said. "I'm not. I never would."

"Lea, I'm not– I can't, not right now."

"It's important, Nick."

"Important?" Nick scoffed. "I just proposed to the woman who's carrying my baby in front of my whole family and she humiliated me."

"That's her loss."

"Can you please just leave me alone."

"No."

"Leanne, please, I don't have time for you right now."

"Well, I suggest you find time," she said. "Because I'm pregnant."


	21. Week 21: Double trouble

**Week 21: Double trouble**

"What did you just say?" Nick asked, staring at Leanne in disbelief.

"I said I'm pregnant. And you know as well as me this baby might be yours."

"You've got to be joking me."

Nick and Leanne turned in horror to discover David standing in the shadows, his hand still on the open kitchen door through which he'd just passed.

"Shut that door!" Nick hissed at his brother. "What if Carla hears?"

"No chance," David said. "She's long gone."

"She left? Without saying goodbye."

"Yes, she– Forget about her for a minute. Did I hear right? You two have been fooling around again?"

"It's a bit more than fooling around," Leanne pointed out, her arms crossed, immediately on the defensive.

"I'm not talking to you."

"_You're_ the one who barged in on _our_ conversation!" Leanne shot back.

"Go on, then," David challenged her. "Tell us, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"I'm not doing this in front of you."

"Too bad," David shrugged. "Cause I'm going nowhere."

"Nick!" Leanne turned to Nick, pleading with him.

"When did you find out?" Nick asked, ignoring David's presence entirely.

"Umm…" Leanne looked askance at David before answering Nick's question. "Yesterday."

"Does Peter know?"

"No," Leanne shook her head. "I wanted you to be the first to know."

"Why's that then?" David interjected. "Seems suss to me."

"Shut it, David!" Nick snapped, before turning back to Leanne. "Well?"

"I wanted to give you the chance to… I dunno. Tell me how you feel about it."

"I don't know how to feel."

"Nick, don't you see," she pleaded with him. "This is our chance."

"For what?"

"To be a family."

"He's got a family," David said. "With Carla."

"Carla doesn't want you," Leanne said, ignoring David. "She never did, not really. Tonight should've proved that to you."

"So, what?" David shrugged. "Are you saying you do? Are you gonna leave Peter for him?"

"Well?" Nick asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I…" Leanne stammered.

"She's hedging her bets," David pointed out to Nick. "Playing you and Peter off against each other."

"Can you please leave us alone," Leanne hissed at David.

"Nope," David flat out refused. "I think it's time you left."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"I can when you're messing with my brother's head. You're married, remember. And he's about to become a dad."

"Yeah, well I'm carrying–"

"Come back when you've got proof it's his. Go on, get!"

Leanne looked to Nick, but he averted his eyes, unable to meet her gaze.

"Fine," she capitulated. "But you and me, Nick, we're gonna talk about this sooner or later."

* * *

Peter and Carla stood side-by-side, each with their backs leaning against the front wall of the bistro, each silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Honestly?" Carla mused. "I have no idea."

"Listen," Peter said. "Why don't you go find Nick, talk to him?"

Carla stood silently, staring out at nothing in particular, as she considered Peter's suggestion.

"No," she shook her head slowly, having made up her mind. "I'm going home. I can't deal with him tonight."

"Nick?"

"Who else?" Carla snapped. "Sorry, yes, I meant Nick."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Peter, I've been proposed to, it's not like I've gone ten rounds, is it?"

"Fair enough," he laughed. "But, if you need someone to talk to…"

"Yes, I know."

"Call me any time."

"Thank you," Carla whispered, expressing her gratitude by leaning in and giving him a friendly peck on the cheek, a peck that quickly turned into a hug as Peter's arms instinctively wrapped around her and held her close. "Bye," Carla stammered with the consciousness that Peter's embrace was causing the colour to rise in her cheeks, and quickly turned away from him.

"Bye."

Peter watched her walk into the shadowy night, her arms crossed tightly across her body as she shivered slightly in the cool air.

With a sigh, he opened the bistro door, bracing himself for the ear bashing he knew was coming from Leanne, a just punishment for abandoning her alone in order to comfort her nemesis.

* * *

"Kylie!" Peter called out to Kylie as she passed his and Leanne's table that he had returned to only to find it empty, his wife gone. "You haven't seen Leanne, have you?"

"I was wondering the same about David," she said. "Hey, you don't think they're off somewhere together, you know…"

"Ha!" he laughed as Kylie raised her eyebrows suggestively. "As if Lea would ever go for a scrawny little ferret like your David."

"Oi, that's my husband you're talking about."

"Sorry," Peter smirked. "No offence intended."

"David's probably with Nick anyway," Kylie said. "You know, after that whole proposal disaster. Poor guy must be humiliated."

"Yeah, poor Nick."

"Carla didn't say anything to you about it, did she? Why she turned him down?"

"Me?" Peter shrugged, feigning innocence. "Why would she talk to me?"

* * *

"You shouldn't have spoken to Leanne like that," Nick reprimanded David.

"Why not? That woman's a ticking time bomb and you need to get her under control."

"She's not about to blow apart her whole life on a hunch."

"Are you sure about that? Because it looked to me like she was giving you first refusal."

"So what if she was?" Nick shrugged. "Maybe I want to take it."

"You idiot."

"Hey, there's no need for that," Nick hissed at his brother. "What's wrong with me weighing up my options anyway?"

"Because you have a son on the way," David pointed out. "Why would you want to destroy his life before its even begun?"

"Destroy who's life?" Kylie asked, coming out of the shadows with Peter following close behind.

"No one's," Nick muttered. "It was nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing," Kylie countered.

"He's wallowing is all," David hastened to provide an explanation, nodding at his brother. "Because Carla turned him down."

"She didn't say something to you, did she?" Nick asked, directing his question at Peter.

"Me?" Peter baulked at answering. "Hey, I'm just here looking for me wife. You haven't seen her, have you?"

"What did she say to you?" Nick pressed on with his interrogation. "I know Carla, if she were gonna confide in anyone, it would be you."

"Oh, no," Peter shook his head. "No, I'm not getting involved. You wanna know what she's thinking, you speak to her yourself."

"I've got a right to know."

"And I've got a right not to break her confidence."

"Tell me what she said," Nick growled, taking a step towards Peter.

"Mate," Peter held his hands up. "You need to calm down."

"Do I?" Nick asked, giving Peter a little shove. "Do I really?"

"Yeah," Peter retorted, stepping forward and shoving Nick in return. "You do."

"What did she say?" Nick demanded, again shoving Peter so that he staggered backwards.

"Get stuffed!" Peter shoved him back, a little more forcefully this time.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" Nick sneered. "Holding something over me. What is it, hmm? Your little revenge for last year?"

"Revenge?" Peter couldn't help but laugh. "The knowledge that Carla's only with you because of the baby is revenge enough for me."

"You…" Nick snarled, marking each word with a fresh shove. "Bitter. Little. Man."

Nick rushed at Peter and, clenching his arm around his neck, gripped him in a headlock, his face contorted with the hate he felt for this man, his biggest rival.

"Get! Off! Me!" Peter grunted, repeatedly smashing his fists into Nick's torso as he struggled to free himself.

"Oi!" David waded into the fight, trying to separate the two men. "Stop it! Enough!"

As Nick loosened his grip on Peter, David seized the opportunity and stepped between the two men, physically separating them.

"Peter, I think you better leave."

"Don't worry, I'm gone," Peter sneered. "I'm going home to _my_ wife."

"Yeah, go on!" Nick called after him. "Run away!"

"Nick!" David chastised his brother. "Leave it!"

"You shoulda let me have him," Nick rebuked David the moment Peter was gone.

"I thought you were meant to be the smart one?" David joked. "Not the one talking with ya fists."

"That man winds me up is all."

"No kidding."

"David," Kylie interjected. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Ah," David looked from his wife to his brother. "No, I'm gonna stay here for a bit. You go on, I'll be home soon."

"Don't be long," Kylie gave her husband a quick peck on the lips before she left the brothers on their own.

"What are you still doing here?" Nick challenged his brother, glancing across at David for just a moment before dropping his head again, dejected, defeated.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm alright."

"And that you don't go doing something stupid," David added. "Like making some daft declaration to Leanne in front of Peter."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You don't even know if Leanne's baby is yours. Forget about her. You've got something good with Carla. Don't mess it up."

"It's already messed up, David. She doesn't want to marry me."

* * *

"Hey," Peter greeted Leanne as he trudged wearily into the flat, dropping his keys onto the kitchen counter and plonking himself down on the sofa next to his wife.

"What happened to you?" Leanne quizzed Peter, spotting the fresh cuts on his face.

"What?"

"Your face," Leanne said, reaching out and gently wiping away the specks of blood.

"That?" Peter stonewalled. "That's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Hmm…" Leanne wasn't convinced, but let him off the hook for now. "So, what do ya reckon, do you think Nick and Carla are gonna break up?"

"How would I know?" Peter snapped.

"Alright! Sheesh! I just wanted to know your opinion."

"Okay, well, I don't see why they would."

"Umm… she did just turn down his proposal of marriage."

"Trust me, Carla's not giving up on that relationship."

"You seem very sure about what Carla's thinking? Did you talk to her tonight?"

"Look…" Peter began.

"Peter."

"Don't get mad."

"I'm not."

"Oh…" Peter was surprised.

"So, you think she might change her mind about getting engaged?"

"Like I said, I don't think she's ready to give up on a future with Nick. Any more than that I don't know."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"Brilliant idea. Right, I'm off to bed. You coming?"

"No, I might stay up, read for a while."

"Okay," Peter said, kissing her softly on the cheek. "Night then."

"Night."

* * *

Carla switched on the light and stepped into the nursery. A casual observer would have been forgiven for thinking the room was merely a junk room, but to Carla it had become the foundation on which she was building all of her dreams.

She hadn't bought any of the big items yet, the cot or the change table but, along the way, she had been collecting little things, like the cute matching knitted sweater and beanie, or the patchwork quilt she'd bought one day while wandering through the markets.

She now picked up these items, one by one, smiling as she thought about her son wearing them, or playing with them, being kept warm by them. Naturally, her thoughts then turned to her son's father, of her overwhelming need to have him live with them, be a family with them.

* * *

Across town, Leanne stood at her front window, staring out onto the darkened street below, her eyes wandering in the direction she knew the bistro lay. She thought about Nick, about how he would be feeling after hearing her news. She smiled as she placed her hand protectively on her tummy, imagining the new life growing within.

And then she thought of the father of her little miracle. Was it the man who slept close by? The man who had stood by her even after she'd betrayed him? Or was it the man she'd betrayed him with? Again. The man she'd loved her whole life since she was little more than a girl.

* * *

Nick sat alone at one of the bistro's booths in the dark and empty dining room, a bottle of whisky in front of him, a glass of it in his hand. Lifting the glass to his lips, he threw back his head and drained it in one great gulp. Grimacing as the fiery amber liquid coursed down his throat, he slammed the glass onto the table and poured himself another shot.

_Beep beep_

Nick reached for his phone and, pulling it across the tabletop towards him, read the incoming text message.

_Carla: Can we talk?_

Nick knocked back another shot of whisky before replying to Carla, when–

_Beep beep_

Another text message.

_Leanne: I need to talk to you now_

* * *

Carla felt a complete fool given the length of time she had been seated on her sofa, her phone in her hand, waiting, willing for it to ring. But eventually she had to admit defeat; Nick was obviously still too hurt or too angry to speak to her that night.

With a sigh, she turned off the living room lights and padded softly into her bedroom, vowing to make it up to him the next day.

* * *

Leanne snatched up her phone the moment Nick's name flashed across the screen.

"Hello," she whispered breathlessly into the phone, hurrying into the bathroom and shutting the door, fearful of being overheard. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."


	22. Week 22: Moving on

**Week 22: Moving on**

"You're two batches short," Carla said, her gaze flickering from the clipboard in her hand to Kylie as the packer worked to secure the boxes that had just been checked. "Cartwrights are expecting this lot delivered in…" she checked her watch. "Less than an hour!"

"Yeah, the thing is–"

"I'm not interested in excuses, Kylie. I'm interested in people doing the jobs they're paid to do. It's not a big ask, is it?"

"If you'll just–"

"Right, who was responsible for these batches?" Carla demanded, running her finger down the paperwork, searching for a name.

"It was –"

"Sean and… Sal. Where are they?"

"But Car–"

"Here we go, doll face," Sean said as he sauntered into Packing, pushing a rack full of bras in front of him. "Oh, hi, Mrs C, I didn't see you there."

"What's this?" Carla asked.

"The rest of the Cartwrights order," he said, nonplussed as he glanced from Carla to Kylie. "Did Kylie not tell you?"

"As I was saying," Kylie said, her eyebrows raised. "We were waiting on a last-minute delivery of care tags."

"Which we've just sewn on," Sean concluded.

"So now I'm going to pack them into these boxes," Kylie added. "And then Kirky–"

"That's me," Kirk said as he ambled into Packing from the loading dock. "The van's ready by the way."

"Kirky here," Kylie concluded. "Is going to drive them straight over to Cartwrights."

"Right," Carla said. "Since you've got everything under control, I'll, umm… I'll leave you to get on with it."

* * *

Carla jumped a little at the sound of her office door slamming shut. She looked up and saw Kylie standing there, glaring down at her.

"You need to go and talk to Nick right now," Kylie pressed her. "Sort this out once and for all."

"Excuse me?"

"Because if I have to put up with you in this mood one second longer, I'm gonna…"

"What?"

"I'm gonna… give you a good… shake. Both of you."

"Why?" Carla asked. "What's Nick said?"

"Nothing. He's gone all broody and silent. I'm not sure which is worse, Nick at home sulking or you here biting everyone's head off."

"I am not–" Carla cut herself off, knowing her protest would be a lie. "So, he hasn't mentioned me at all?"

"How can ya tell?" Kylie shrugged. "Haven't got much more than a grunt outta him since that night."

"Do you think he wants to–?"

"Go!" Kylie commanded. "Now."

* * *

Carla rapped on the bistro office door and gently pushed it open without waiting for a reply.

"Hey," she said, poking her head around the door to see Nick sat at the desk, working on the restaurant's accounts.

"I'm busy, Carla," Nick brushed her off brusquely, barely even looking at her before refocusing his attention on the paperwork in front of him.

"You can't spare me five minutes?" she asked. "I mean, it's not like you've got a full dining room or owt."

"Which is why I need to make the most of this quiet time to get the accounts done, before I'm needed front of house. I thought you'd understand that, what with being a so-called businesswoman."

"Excuse me?"

"Okay," Nick said with a resigned sigh as he turned to face Carla. "What do you want? Is there something wrong with the baby?"

"What? No. Of course not."

"Good. Then we've got nothing else to talk about."

"We could talk about how you proposed to me," Carla suggested hopefully.

"You turned me down, remember?"

"Just because I don't want to marry you–"

"I know, Carla."

"Know what?" Carla shrugged, confused by Nick's cryptic words. "Honestly, Nick, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you were only with me because of the baby."

"I never said that."

"You didn't need to," Nick's eyes narrowed with contempt at the memory. "Your best mate told me everything."

"My…" Carla's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Peter."

"Peter told you I was with you…"

"Because of the baby."

"That's not true."

"Why did he say it then? Hmm?" Nick sneered. "Carla!"

But Carla had gone; she stormed out of the office with a violent slam of the door and hurried down the cobbles on a new mission, not one of reconciliation, but one of confrontation and accusation.

* * *

"Love, I'm going for a fag while it's quiet."

"Hmm?" Leanne murmured, glancing up at Peter from where she was sat working in the bookies office.

"Smoke," he said, holding up the packet of cigarettes he was holding in his hand as proof of his intentions. "Can you keep an eye on the shop?"

"Yeah, sure," she muttered, immediately focusing her attention back on her work.

Peter watched her for a moment before turning and hurrying around the counter and out through the empty bookies shop.

_Ting a ling a ling_

The front bell rang as he opened the door and stepped out into the fresh air, where he was immediately grabbed by the arm.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What's–?"

"Shhh!" Carla hissed as she dragged Peter out of sight of the bookies, before shoving him up against the wall.

"Carla, what the hell? What is wrong with you?"

"You!" she rounded on him. "You're what's wrong with me."

"What have I done?"

"What have you done?" Carla laughed bitterly. "He has the nerve to ask what he's done."

"You are so infuriating! Just tell me what I'm meant to have done."

"You told Nick the only reason I was with him was because of the baby."

"Oh…" Peter faltered. "Well… he was asking for it."

"He was–?"

"He was taunting me," was Peter's childlike excuse.

"So you decided to drop me in it?"

"If you think about it," Peter flippantly, and unwisely many would say, tried to reason with her. "I actually did you a huge favour."

"How do you figure that?"

"I was honest with him when you couldn't be. You'll thank me in the long run."

"You are so arrogant," Carla sneered. "Thinking you know what's best for me."

"In this case, yes."

"For future reference, keep your nose outta my business."

With a final shove, pushing Peter back hard against the wall so that he winced from the force of the impact, Carla turned on her heel and stormed away from him.

* * *

Leanne sat silently at the desk, listening to Peter's retreating footsteps, to the _ting a ling a ling_ of the bell as the door opened and closed, until she was certain she was alone.

Picking up her phone, she quickly placed a call.

"I'm busy, Lea," Nick said as he answered the call. "What do you want?"

"I want to know if you've made a decision."

"You can't expect me to make a decision like that without knowing for sure that I'm the father."

"Forget about the baby for a minute," Leanne urged him. "You know you've got no future with Carla."

"That's not true," Nick interjected. "You've got the impression that I don't care about her. But I do. I really do. I love her."

"Do you love me?"

"You know, sometimes I think you and me, we romanticise the past. Believing that first love is something magical, an irrefutable sign written in the stars that two people are destined to be together."

"Are you saying it's not?" Leanne asked. "That falling in love with someone at such a young age won't stay with you forever?"

"I'm saying people change."

"You mean, you've changed."

"Last year, I believed with all my heart that we were going to be together, that it was our destiny. I had no doubt about that, not one ounce. And then you went back to him."

"That's not fair, Nick. You know what I went through, what Peter went through. I couldn't…"

"You could have, if you'd really wanted to."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. "I'm not going to apologise for loving Peter and Simon. Not then and not now."

"You admit you still love him?"

"Of course I love him. It's just… He's been so distant lately. I feel…"

"Sounds like it's your husband you need to be talking to, not me."

"Nick, please."

"Goodbye, Leanne."

* * *

"When's mum gonna be home?" Simon called out to his dad from his comfy spot on the sofa.

"Soon, mate," Peter replied as he stirred the contents of the saucepan that was bubbling away on the stove.

"Where is she?"

"At work."

"Why?"

"Because there was a late meeting at Taunton."

"What's for tea?" Simon readily changed the subject.

"Sausages, mash and beans," Peter said. "Is that okay with you?"

"Hmm…" Simon made a great show of considering his dad's offerings before responding. "Depends. What's for pudding?"

"Umm… I think there's a bit of ice cream left in the freezer."

"No there's not," Simon disagreed. "Mum scoffed that last night. You'll have to go to Dev's."

"Is that right?"

"Yep!"

"I'll make you a deal," Peter suggested. "If you clean up your mess from the dinner table I'll think about it."

"Aww, but dad."

"Now."

"Hmmpf!" Simon snorted as he dragged himself off the sofa and grudgingly began to clear the assortment of toys, books, and random odds and ends that were scattered across the dining table.

"Hellooo!" Leanne called out her greeting as she stepped over the threshold only to be immediately accosted by Simon who ran up and threw his arms around her affectionately. "Well, this is a nice welcome."

"Mum, dad said we can get ice cream from Dev's if I cleaned up and look, I cleaned up, so can we get ice cream from Dev's? Please, mum. Please."

"Ahh…" Leanne looked across at Peter and shrugged.

"It's alright," Peter said, switching off the stovetop and grabbing his wallet. "This'll keep for a coupla minutes. Why don't you relax and I'll pop over to Dev's."

"Sure," Leanne agreed, turning to Simon as Peter hurried out of the door, the sound of his footsteps soon fading as he tripped down the stairs. "So, Si, what did you learn today at school?"

"Dunno," the lad shrugged, lugging the last of his belongings from the table and into his bedroom. "Finished!"

"Nice work."

"Can you read me a story after tea?"

"Yeah, of course," Leanne promised.

"Yes!" Simon celebrated, wrapping his arms around Leanne and giving her a big hug. "You're so much better than dad at reading stories."

"Aww, your dad's a good reader."

"No one like you," Simon declared, tilting back his head and staring up at his mum with a broad smile on his face. "You're the best."

"Oh, Si," Leanne murmured, rumpling his curls affectionately with her hand. "I love you, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Simon nodded in the security of his simple belief system. "I love you, too."

* * *

Nick tapped on the office door and gently pushed it open. "You work too hard," he observed.

"Yeah, well," Carla glanced briefly up at him. "Keeps my mind off things."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact I hurt someone I care about very deeply."

"Anyone I know?"

"You, you muppet," she said with a smirk. "I've been thinking about why I turned you down."

"And?" Nick shrugged. "What pearls of wisdom did you come up with?"

"Only that my reaction was more about me than it was about you."

"Don't tell me," Nick laughed ruefully. "It's not you, it's me."

"It's true though," Carla protested. "It was about Paul, and it was about Tony, and yeah, it was about me. Me not giving you a chance. But I realised I can't judge you based on my past experiences. And, as for being with you only because of the baby…"

"Yes?"

"Look, I'm not gonna lie and say that wasn't a big part of why we got together in the first place. But that was months ago and, as this little one…" Carla rubbed her belly tenderly, "…has grown inside me, all I've wanted was to love him, and protect him. And being in a relationship that's not right, that's just gonna hurt him, innit? The best thing for him is for me to be in a relationship with someone I…"

"Someone you…?" Nick coaxed her.

"Someone I love."

"Do you though? Love me?"

"Yes," she replied in earnest.

"Carla," Nick's tone was pleading; he needed to hear the words from her lips.

"I love you, Tilsley."

"I love you too."

"And…" Carla added with a grin. "If you wanted to ask me a certain question again, my answer would definitely be different."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Alright then," Nick laughed nervously. "Do you, I dunno, do you want me to get down on one knee again?"

"No," Carla shook her head. "I don't need gestures, Nick. I just need to know what's in your heart."

"What's in my heart is the desire, no, it's a need, the need to spend the rest of my life with you and our boy. Marry me?"

* * *

"Good night, sweetheart," Leanne whispered, gently closing the book she had been reading to Simon and placing it on the bedside table before kissing him softly on the forehead. "Sleep tight."

She padded softly to the bedroom entrance and turned to gaze at Simon for a moment, reflecting on the pure and innocent love this little lad had for her, before switching off the light, leaving his sleeping figure bathed in the luminous glow of the night light.

"Two books," she said to Peter as she re-entered the living room. "Two whole books before he dropped off."

"Smart kid," Peter said. "Knows how to keep your attention."

"Listen, can we have a talk?"

"Oh, Lea, I'm really shattered. Can we do this another time?"

"No," Leanne shook her head determinedly. "It has to be now. Please, Peter, it's important."

"Okay," Peter sighed, resigned to his fate. "What's up? There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"Quite the opposite actually."

"Well, go on," Peter urged her to speak. "Don't keep me in suspense."

Leanne took a deep breath and, taking Peter's hand in hers, smiled at him.

"I'm pregnant," she revealed. "We're having a baby."


	23. Week 23: Jumping in with both feet

**Week 23: Jumping in with both feet**

Carla sat at the bar of the bistro, absently picking at the salad in front of her. She wasn't hungry at all but Nick was so fastidious about her eating three square meals a day that she was determined to suffer it down somehow.

"Did Kylie get off alright?"

Carla jumped at the sound of Gail's simpering voice by her right elbow, silently cursing the woman for her cat-like abilities to sneak up on people.

"I'm sorry?" Having regained her composure, Carla peered at the newcomer in confusion.

"For her visit with Max," Gail explained. "You know, the home visit at his foster family's house? Have those pregnancy hormones been messing with your memory again?"

"Must be that," Carla laughed, distracted. "I'm sorry, Gail, you'll have to excuse me, I, umm… I've just remembered an important phone call I'm expecting."

"But, your mobile is right there," Gail said, pointing to the countertop where Carla's mobile was clearly visible.

"On the office phone," Carla clarified, quickly grabbing said mobile along with her bag and jacket. "Tell Nick… tell Nick I'll call him later."

"But–" Gail called after her. "Your lunch!"

* * *

Minutes later, Carla walked into what seemed to the casual observer a deserted factory. Everyone was at lunch, at Roys or in the Rovers for a swift half, perhaps at the kebab shop; everyone that is, except Kylie. Carla knew Kylie well enough by now to realise she wouldn't have popped to the pub or home for her lunch. No, she would be in hiding, feeling sorry for herself.

Carla strode across the sewing floor, her heeled boots click-clacking at a furious staccato, and pushed through the double doors and into Packing.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, making her way to where she could see Kylie sitting on the edge of the loading dock, her legs swinging over the edge like a little girl's, her face twisted into the expected melancholic snarl.

"Umm…" Kylie responded with peak sarcasm, her eyebrow raised. "I work here."

"You're meant to be seeing Max."

"Who told you–?"

"Who do you think?"

"It was Gail, wasn't it?" Kylie's lip curled into a sneer. "The interfering old cow."

"Never mind her," Carla waved off Kylie's indignant outburst. "What time are they expecting you?"

"Carla, I–"

"What time?"

"Half one."

"Good," Carla said optimistically as she quickly checked her watch. "That gives us ten minutes to get there."

"We'll never make it on time."

"Not if you stand around arguing about it, we won't. Now come on."

"I can't," Kylie shook her head despondently.

"Kylie." Carla set her most fiery stare onto Kylie. "Get in the car. Now."

* * *

"Which way?" Carla asked, glancing at the passenger sitting next to her. But Kylie sat in silence, her eyes focused on her hands clasped together in her lap, her thumbs fidgeting nervously. "Kylie!"

"What?"

"Which way do I go?"

"Left," she muttered, the scowl on her face not budging.

"Thank you," Carla said, turning left onto Coronation Street and accelerating as fast as she dared on the cobbled surface, before pressing her foot down hard on the brake, causing the wheels to screech as they came to an abrupt stop.

"What the hell!" Kylie cried out. "You trying to kill us?"

"It's Hayley," Carla said, quickly winding down the window and waving at the woman walking past them on the footpath. "Hayley!"

"Oh, hello, Mrs Connor, Kylie," Hayley greeted them both with her customary smile. "You two off somewhere nice for lunch?"

"Listen, we're out of the office for the rest of the afternoon so you're in charge."

"Me?"

"And don't let Sally Webster try to take over."

"Of course, Mrs Connor," Hayley stammered. "Where shall I say–"

"Out!" Carla cried, even as she was accelerating away.

"Why are you doing this?" Kylie asked.

"What? You mean, saving you from another round of self-destructive pity-party I'm not good enough nonsense? Geez, I wonder why."

"But–"

"Don't you dare say that Max is better off without you," Carla warned her. "I'm sick and tired of it. No– not another word."

"Whatever," Kylie muttered, not even trying to hide her eye roll from Carla.

"And for god's sake, do something about your face!"

"What's wrong with my face?"

"You'll scare the poor lad with that scowl," Carla rebuked her. "How about a smile? Give it a go, yeah?"

Kylie smiled for Carla, an over-the-top, sarcastic smile that Carla couldn't help but laugh at.

"It's a start," Carla conceded, flashing Kylie an affectionate smile in return before focusing on the road ahead.

* * *

"Go!" Carla whispered, an impatient edge to her voice, into Kylie's ear, pushing her gently into the living room while she hung back with Max's foster mother, Amanda.

"Heya, Max," Kylie greeted her son cautiously, crouching down to where he was sitting on the floor, playing with a collection of toy cars.

"Hi," came Max's feeble reply, his gaze only momentarily flickering up to his mother's face before dropping back down to the car he was rolling across the carpet.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Kylie asked tentatively. "Is that alright with you?"

Relieved at the sight of Max's timid nod, Kylie sat down cross-legged opposite Max and, picking up one of the other cars, mimicked Max's action and rolled it across the floor, adding some revving sound effects of her own. "Rrrr rrrr," she growled, instinctively smiling at the laughter this generated from Max.

"I'm sorry we were a bit late," Carla said to Amanda. "My fault completely. I had Kylie, umm, working on an order and I lost track of time. You know how it is."

"You and Kylie work together?"

"Actually, Kylie works for me," Carla clarified. "She's a real asset to my business, she's hardworking, loyal, takes initiative."

"This isn't a job interview," Amanda said. "I'm not here to judge Kylie, I'm here to facilitate her meeting with Max, that's it."

"Sorry."

"I am surprised though, you really went out of your way for an employee."

"Kylie's not just an employee. She's family."

"Oh?"

"I'm engaged to her brother-in-law," Carla revealed, smiling as she unconsciously touched her engagement ring, twisting it round her finger.

"I can't do this." Carla was rocked out of her romantic reverie by a frantic Kylie approaching, her head shaking from side to side. "I can't."

"Hey," Carla cried, reaching out and placing her arm on Kylie's, a reassuring gesture. "What's wrong?"

"This isn't gonna work," Kylie declared, her agitation levels rising with every second that passed. "He's not interested. He's just sitting there, ignoring me. He doesn't want me here. Please, Carla, can we just go? I wanna go home."

"Be patient, hmm?" Amanda encouraged her. "Give him some time to get used to having you around again."

"I just thought by now…" Kylie shrugged. "I dunno, maybe it's too late."

"You're doing great, okay?" Carla tried to boost her spirits. "He talked to you, didn't he, when you first arrived. And I heard him laugh, right?"

"Yeah," Kylie conceded, a small smile on her lips as she remembered the sound of her son's laughter. "I guess."

"Well?" Carla gave Kylie's hand a friendly squeeze. "What are you doing hanging around talking to us for?"

"I better…" Kylie stammered. "Get back to…"

"So," Amanda said as Kylie returned to Max, turning to face Carla and nodding at her baby bump. "When are you due?"

"November."

"Do you know–?"

"Boy," Carla revealed with a smile. "It's a boy."

"So, Max will be getting a little cousin to play with?"

"I hope so," Carla said. "What do you think of her chances of getting him back?"

"It's not up to me."

"Yeah, but you'd have a good idea. I mean, you've been doing this a while, right?"

"It's no guarantee, mind."

"I'm just canvassing opinion, is all."

"If she keeps on like this, then yes, I think she's got a very good chance of regaining custody of Max."

"I don't know how you do it," Carla said. "Getting attached to a kid and then having to give him up."

"Seeing families reunited is reward enough."

"Do you have any kids of your own?"

A tense silence fell as Amanda failed to answer, instead staring intently at Max and Kylie as they played together.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's alright," Amanda shook her head. "We couldn't have children of our own, so we decided to foster instead. You're lucky, you know, having your boy."

"I feel like I don't deserve him."

"Why?"

"Because I never wanted kids. I'm sorry, that probably sounds like an awful thing for you to hear."

"It's fine."

"Obviously he wasn't planned and at first I didn't even consider keeping him. It wasn't an option for me. I couldn't be a mother. Me?" Carla laughed. "No, I was not at all prepared to become a mother."

"What changed?"

"I don't know," Carla shrugged. "I guess I started to feel a connection with him. That he was a part of me. And now… Now I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Sounds to me like you're going to make a brilliant mother."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because you love your son, you want your son."

"I do," Carla smiled. "Do you ever feel, I dunno, angry? Or bitter that you… you know.""

"I used to," Amanda admitted. "But I have to believe these things happen for a reason. And us not having children of our own has meant we've been able to help kids like Max. Mothers like Kylie."

Carla's gaze focused again on mother and son as they slowly, painfully, began to reform those natural bonds, to heal those wounds of separation and abandonment. And when Kylie glanced up at Carla and beamed at her with pure joy written clearly across her face, Carla knew without a doubt that Max would soon be coming home.

* * *

"How do you feel?" Carla asked Kylie as they drove back to Coronation Street. "Now that you've seen him and spent time with him."

"Yeah," Kylie reflected on her afternoon. "I feel good. I feel… more confident."

"That's great, Kylie. I'm so pleased for you."

"You know I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't forced me?"

"I know."

"I'd still be mooching around feeling sorry for myself."

"You've got that down to a fine art," Carla laughed.

"What I'm trying to say," Kylie said. "Is thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Are you gonna come in for a bit?" Kylie asked as Carla pulled her car up in front of Underworld and switched off the ignition. "Come on, just for a little while."

"Hmm…" Carla mused, looking at her watch. "Nick's finished work soon so I guess I may as well wait for him here."

* * *

"There you are," David said, rising from his usual spot on the sofa the moment Kylie walked in the door, followed closely by Carla. "I've been trying to call you, I was getting worried."

"Were you?" Kylie asked, pulling her phone from her bag and holding it out for David to inspect. "It was on silent, see."

"But–"

"Aren't you gonna ask me how it went?" she asked, unable to keep the grin off her face.

"Is that Kylie?" Gail asked, coming in the back door clutching a laundry basket full of clean clothes. "Oh, hello, Carla, have you come for your tea?"

"Ahhh…"

"I know," she pressed on without waiting for an answer. "Why don't I give Nick a quick call and he can join us when he's finished work. Wouldn't that be nice? The whole family together."

Carla turned to Kylie and shot her an accusatory look while Gail made her promised phone call to her eldest.

"That's all sorted," Gail soon reported back. "He'll meet us here, which gives you and me plenty of time to talk about the wedding."

"The…?"

"The wedding," Gail prompted her. "Your wedding, silly."

"Of course, but Gail, I–"

"I've bought all the latest bridal magazines," Gail said, hurrying to the sideboard and retrieving a stack of magazines. "Sit down, right there, that's it," she ordered Carla, plonking the magazines on the table in front of her future daughter-in-law. "Now, cup of tea?"

* * *

"Have you settled on a date yet?" Gail asked, peering across the table at Carla.

"I, ahh…" Carla faltered, raising her tea cup to her lips, a welcome distraction from Gail's incessant questions.

"Will it be before the baby comes or after? After would be better for dress choice and photos, I mean, what woman wants to be heavily pregnant in their wedding photos, right? Smacks of a shot gun wedding. But it would be nice if you were married before the baby arrives, don't you think?"

"Would it?"

"Yes, of course," Gail enthused. "Now, if you did decide on before, I think an empire waistline would be best. Then it wouldn't matter how big you got."

"Listen, Gail, I don't appreciate…" Carla trailed off when she saw Gail peering at her, her eyes full of excitement, her smile beaming from ear to ear and, as much as she wanted to tell her interfering almost in-law to bog off, she couldn't bring herself to extinguish her child-like enthusiasm. "I, umm, I don't appreciate an empire waist, I'd much prefer something that hugged my figure a little more."

"Well, then," Gail exclaimed, thumbing through the magazines until she'd found what she was looking for. "What do you think of this?"

"Yeah," Carla murmured, pulling the magazine towards her and gazing at the gown Gail had selected. "We're definitely moving in the right direction."

"Evening all," Nick called in greeting from the front door.

"Oh, Nicky," Gail exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you weren't finishing for another hour?"

"It was fairly quiet at the bistro so thought I'd come see all my favourite people," Nick explained, making a beeline for the kitchen table. "What's going on here?"

"No no no!" Gail cried out, grabbing the magazines and quickly stuffing them into a nearby drawer. "You can't see!"

"What?"

"We've been talking wedding dresses," Carla explained.

"Have you now?" Nick raised an eyebrow in amusement, knowing how much Carla would despise such an activity with his mother. "Sounds like fun." He leaned down and kissed Carla softly on the lips before sitting down at the table.

"Actually," Carla said tentatively. "Your mum made a good point."

"Oh, yes?"

"We haven't decided when we're getting married which is kind of important for dress shopping, you know, if I have to fit this bump in."

"Well, if it was up to me, we'd get married tomorrow."

"We need a teensy bit more time than that, don't you think?"

"Not really."

"But–"

"David!" Nick called out to his brother. "How long after you got your marriage license before you two could get married?"

"Ahh…" David looked at Kylie for confirmation. "Twenty-eight days, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh," Kylie nodded in agreement. "Why? You guys looking at a short engagement?"

"Why not?" Nick turned to Carla and shrugged. "What are we waiting for?"

"Really?" Carla asked. "Are you sure about this?"

"I am, with all my heart. Listen, we'll go in tomorrow, get the license and in twenty-eight days–"

"I'll be Mrs Tilsley."


	24. Week 24: Baby talk

**Week 24: Baby talk**

Leanne glanced at Peter, her own excitement tinged with anxiety as the sonographer moved the ultrasound wand slowly over her lower abdomen, before turning her attention back to the screen where her womb was displayed in splodges of greyscale.

"Is everything alright?" she asked the sonographer.

"Just getting in the best position to see the baby," she replied, her focus not shifting from her work. "Nothing to worry about."

Leanne turned to Peter again, in need of some reassurance, only to be met with a face even more troubled than her own. "What's wrong with you?" she quizzed him.

"Nothing, love," Peter said, quickly hitching a smile on his face and squeezing her hand in a show of support.

"There we go," the sonographer announced, pointing at an ill-defined shape on the screen. "There's your baby."

"Look, Peter," Leanne grinned in excitement. "Can you see?"

"Yeah," Peter muttered. "I can see."

"That sound?" Leanne asked. "Is that…?"

"That's your baby's heartbeat."

"Isn't it a bit… fast?"

"It's perfectly normal."

"Did you hear that, Peter?" Leanne turned and smiled at Peter. "Perfectly normal."

"I'm just going to take some measurements, confirm your dates."

"Right," Leanne said, her brow furrowed in concern. "How… umm, how accurate can you get with that? Knowing the date of… you know?"

"Conception? The good news for you is that a scan done between eight and ten weeks gestation is the most accurate. We can usually date the baby to within three to five days."

"Right," Leanne murmured, her mind whirring with the possibilities. "That's really, umm, specific."

"As for your baby, going by these measurements… I'd say he or she is nine weeks old."

"So, what you're saying…" Peter grinned. "Is that nine weeks ago, we…"

"Actually, it's seven weeks ago," the sonographer clarified. "We start counting from the date of the last period, so conception is usually two weeks after that."

"Seven weeks then?"

"That's right."

"Okay," Peter pondered for a moment. "What were we doing seven weeks ago…?"

"Peter," Leanne chastised him. "Do we really need to broadcast it to the whole world?"

"Don't mind me," the sonographer said. "I've heard it all before."

"I've got it!" Peter declared. "I know exactly when this baby was made!"

"You can't know," Leanne shook her head, dismissing Peter out of hand. "Not for sure."

"I can actually," Peter protested. "It's not like we were at it like rabbits back then. There's only one possible date."

"Congratulations," Leanne said. "Now, can we please talk about something else?"

* * *

Carla looked askance from Nick to their midwife who was sitting opposite them. "Are you seriously asking me that? I want as many drugs as you're allowed to give me. I'll take em all."

"But, darling," Nick interjected. "I thought you were going to think about a natural childbirth?"

"That doesn't sound like something I'd say."

"The other night," Nick tried to jog her memory. "When we were talking about your birthing plan, remember? I suggested a natural birth and you promised to think about it."

"I don't remember that at all. Are you sure I was listening?"

"Obviously not."

"I'm sorry, Nick, but you do tend to go on about these things. I think I switched off when you started talking about setting up a paddling pool in the flat so I could have a water birth."

"Which I still think is a–"

"I'm not giving birth in a paddling pool."

"So, you're not willing to take on board any of my ideas?"

"If one of your ideas involves taking away all of my pain, then yes, I'm up for it."

"This is my baby as well, don't forget."

"Is it you that's gonna be pushing this baby out of your vagina? No, it's not. So, can you please let me decide what's best for my body. Is that alright with you?"

"I guess when you put it like that," he sighed, not entirely convinced.

"There's a whole range of non-medical pain relief options I can talk you through," the midwife added. "If you'd like me to…?"

"That'd be great," Nick said, glancing at Carla nervously. "If that's okay with you?"

"Yes, that's okay with me."

* * *

Leanne couldn't take her eyes off her scan photo. She couldn't quite believe that this was real, that she was finally having a baby of her own. She smiled as she ran her forefinger over the photo, tracing the outline of her baby's tiny little body, still so small, still so fragile.

"Oh!' she gasped as she crashed straight into a person walking the other way to her. "I'm so sorry. Oh, it's you."

"Large as life," Nick said, his gaze flickering momentarily past Leanne to where Peter was following in his wife's footsteps. "Peter," Nick greeted him curtly.

"Nick."

"What are you doing here?" Leanne asked.

"We've been meeting with our midwife, talking about Carla's birthing plan."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Peter asked.

"What?"

"Carla?"

"Oh, Carla, she's–"

"Got it!" Carla called out as she caught up with Nick, her phone grasped triumphantly in her hand. "Left it in the office. Oh, hey," she said as she spotted Peter and Leanne. "What are you two… Ohhhhh, you're not? You are!"

"Yeah," Peter confirmed. "We're having a baby. Hey, Lea, show em the scan piccie."

Leanne reluctantly handed the scan photograph to Carla, exchanging the briefest of guilty looks with Nick as she did so.

"Aww, look at that," Carla cooed over the picture before admitting, "You know, I never could tell one end from the other in these scans, not at this stage anyway. Here, Nick, do you wanna see?"

"Thanks," Nick accepted the photograph from Carla and stared at it intently.

"Congratulations by the way," Carla said to Peter and Leanne. "It's, umm, it's brilliant news. Actually, we've got some news of our own, don't we Nick?"

"Oh?" Peter raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Do tell."

"Carla," Nick tried to warn her. "I don't think–"

"We've set a date," Carla announced.

"What?" Leanne piped up for the first time. "Not a wedding date?"

"What else?" Carla shrugged. "It's the twentieth of August, so keep the day free. We'll be sending out invites…" Carla looked at Nick. "Oh my god, we need to sort out invites."

"We've got plenty of time," Nick assured her.

"We've got less than four weeks!"

"Four weeks," Leanne repeated solemnly, her eyes locked on Nick's. "You two are gonna be married in four weeks' time?"

* * *

"What's the deal with them getting married so soon?" Leanne asked as she stepped into the bookies shop from the office, a cup of tea cradled in her hands.

"Good luck, mate," Peter handed over a franked ticket to a customer before turning to face Leanne. "What are you talking about?"

"Nick," Leanne said tersely. "And Carla. Why are they rushing to get married? I mean, four weeks?"

"Why shouldn't they?"

"I dunno, it's just… too soon."

"I suppose they wanna do it before the baby arrives. What's it got to do with you anyway?"

"Nothing, I just think he's making a mistake is all. Imagine being stuck with her as your wife?"

"If I didn't know any better," Peter said, staring at her with suspicious eyes. "I'd say you were jealous."

"Jealous?" Leanne laughed. "What have I got to be jealous of? We're having our own baby, remember?"

"How can I forget?"

"You are happy about it, aren't you?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"I dunno, you seem not as excited as I thought you would be."

"It's hard, innit? To be excited for something you can't see or hold yet."

"I'm excited."

"Well, it's different for you. It's, I dunno, it's… inside you."

"Peter, do you want this baby?"

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed with a little too much enthusiasm. "Of course I do. Hey," he kissed her softly and repeated, his tone low and gentle now, "Of course I want this baby. Hmm? Alright?"

"Hmmpf!" Leanne harrumphed. "I guess so."

"Listen, I need to pop out for a bit."

"What? Where are you going?"

"I need to go to a meeting."

"Now?"

"I promised Howard…" Peter shrugged. "I can't go back on my word."

"I guess not, but Peter–"

"Are you okay to look after the shop?"

"Yes, but–"

"Thanks," Peter said, giving her a quick peck before grabbing his jacket and making a beeline for the front door. "I won't be long."

Leanne stared at the front door of the bookies long after Peter had disappeared from view. And then she made her move. Working quickly before she could change her mind, she grabbed her phone and sent a text message.

_Meet me at the flat. We need to talk._

* * *

"What do you want?" Nick asked, his arms crossed over his chest defensively as he squared up to Leanne in the middle of her and Peter's living room floor.

"You need to call off the wedding," she demanded.

"You what?" Nick laughed. "You're off your head."

"You're rushing into it," she insisted. "What's the harm in waiting?"

"I don't want to wait."

"Look, Nick, at the scan today, well… the dates match."

"The dates…?"

"When we, you know. They match."

"So… what are you saying?" Nick asked. "It's definitely mine?"

"No," Leanne clarified. "I'm saying it definitely could be yours."

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"What do you–?"

"How long did you wait?"

"Wait? For what?"

"Did you jump straight from my bed into his? Did you even have a bath in-between? Brush your teeth?"

"Nick!" Leanne cried, aghast at his suggestion. "Don't be so… disgusting!"

"Whatever, Lea, this hasn't changed a thing."

"I saw the way you were at the hospital. The way you were looking at the scan."

"I never said I wasn't curious."

"Just admit that you care."

"What do you want me to do, Lea?" Nick asked, throwing his hands in the air. "Put my life on hold just in case this baby turns out to be mine? You keep forgetting that I already have a son. He is real. And he is going to be here in a few months."

"That doesn't mean you have to marry her."

"Why not? You married Peter."

"So… what? This is some kind of payback?"

* * *

"Who's your mate?" Carla asked Peter, nodding at the teddy bear he was carrying in his arms.

"It's cute, innit?" Peter asked, poking the bear in its belly and grinning. "I know it's a bit early in the pregnancy to be buying stuff, but I couldn't resist. You see, I was having a bit of a wobble about becoming a dad again."

"That's natural, it's a big thing innit, having a kid."

"I went to a meeting in town and this little fella was calling out to me from the window of the toy store next door."

"I remember that little outfit you bought laddo here," Carla said, rubbing her belly. "It was the first thing anyone had bought for him."

"Oh, yeah," Peter reflected with a smile. "I remember that."

"And now look at you, having a baby of your own."

"And you getting married."

"A lot's changed."

"Yeah," Peter said, his eyes locked with Carla's as they both ruminated on the huge changes in each of their lives, changes that were tearing them ever further apart. "So, how did your meeting with the midwife go?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Carla rolled her eyes at the memory.

"Why? Is there something wrong?"

"No no, nothing like that," Carla waved off his concern. "Nick has only gone and got it into his head that a natural, drug-free labour is the way to go."

"I take it you don't agree?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Carla laughed. "I cannot deal with that level of pain. There is no way."

* * *

"Lea?" Peter called out as he entered the bookies that he had found, locked up and empty on his return, the 'Closed' sign hanging across the door. "Is anyone here?"

But there was no answer; the shop was empty.

Placing the teddy bear on the counter, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed a call.

* * *

"It's Peter," Leanne said, staring at the phone in her hands.

"Are you gonna answer?" Nick asked.

"No," Leanne shook her head and rejected the call. "Peter can wait. We need to sort this out once and for all."

"There's nothing to sort out. I'm marrying Carla and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"I'm not saying don't marry her, just wait a while."

"Why? Will you leave Peter if I call off the wedding? Or are you hedging your bets?"

"What I want is for this baby to grow up with its father," Leanne said. "Whoever that is. All I'm asking is for you to wait six… seven months tops and then we can do a DNA test, find out one way or the other if this baby is yours."

"What did you say?" Peter asked from where he was standing inside the front door to the flat, unseen by the pair inside, engrossed completely in their own conversation.

"Nothing," Leanne gasped, shaking her head in denial, but not quite quick enough to hide the panic that flashed across her eyes.

"I'm not hard of hearing, Lea," Peter said. "I heard what you said. You said Nick might be our baby's… your baby's father."

"Peter, listen to me, I–"

"How did I not see this? How was I so oblivious… seven weeks ago… what was happening seven weeks ago?"

"Nothing was happening, Peter," Nick insisted.

"You keep your mouth shut!" Peter shouted. "Seven weeks… come on, Lea, you know what you were doing seven weeks ago. I remembered as well, don't forget. At the scan, I told you I knew when this baby was conceived. Because it was the only time we'd been intimate for weeks. You remember that, don't you, Lea? Hmm?"

"I remember."

"Go on, tell me. When was it?"

"It was after you'd been away."

"Yeah, that's right," Peter nodded. "I leave you alone for one night and you jump into bed with him!"

"You were with Carla!"

"The difference is, Lea, I never slept with Carla."

"I didn't know that. What was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to trust me."

"It's her I don't trust."

"Not this again," Peter shook his head in frustration. "She's having a baby with someone else! With him!"

"I should go," Nick said as he started to move towards the door.

"No!" Peter blocked his path. "You're staying until I get some answers."

"What do you want me to say?" Nick shrugged. "It was a mistake? Fine, it was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Leanne asked, shocked by Nick's words.

"The only mistake around here," Peter declared. "Is this."

"No!" Leanne screamed, lunging at Peter as he snatched the scan photo from the kitchen counter and ripped it in two, tossing the pieces onto the ground. "No," she sobbed, dropping to her knees and picking up the torn picture, bringing the pieces back together, lovingly smoothing out the surface with her fingers. "How could you?"

"How could I?" he asked, his lip curled into a sneer. "How could you? After I forgave you and you promised me never again. Well, you're right, it will be never again, because I will never again believe another word that comes out of your mouth."

"Peter!" she cried out as he turned his back on her and stormed from the room, the sound of his feet running down the stairs closely followed by the slam of the street door reverberating back up the stairs. Stumbling to her feet, she ran after him, but Nick caught up with her at the top of the stairs and, grabbing onto her arm, held her back.

"Leave him, Lea," he urged her. "Let him calm down, yeah?"

"Let go!" Leanne struggled against Nick's hold on her.

"No, just…" Nick grappled with her.

"I need to talk to Peter!" she said, wresting herself free from Nick and shoving him backwards, "I–"

But in the struggle with Nick, Leanne lost her footing. As if a switch had been flicked and the world was now being played out in slow motion, Leanne flailed her arms helplessly, reaching out for something, anything, to hold onto. Something that would stop her from falling. But there was nothing and she fell, with one sickening crunch after the other, from step to step, bouncing, crashing, until she lay unconscious in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.


	25. Week 25: Collateral damage

**Week 25: Collateral damage**

"I have added an extra custard slice," Roy announced as he handed the white box over to Carla. "I noticed you seemed particularly keen on them yesterday. I do suspect that pregnancy cravings may be at play, as you have never professed a great love of my cakes before this. I understand that these cravings are most prevalent during a woman's second trimester–"

"Bring on the third trimester, I say," Carla laughed.

"The third trimester begins at week twenty-eight so, depending on how many weeks–"

"Twenty-five."

"Ah, then," Roy nodded. "Another three weeks and your cravings shall subside."

"And what a blessed relief that will be," Carla said. "Thanks for this, Roy."

Carrying her box of cakes, Carla headed towards the door but, unable to resist and not wanting to deny herself any longer, she opened the lid and pulled out Roy's gift of a custard slice.

"Oh, yes," Carla moaned as she bit into the sweet treat, her eyes raised heavenward as she savoured the feel of the smooth custard in her mouth and felt the sugar rush into her system, giving her that extra kick she needed to get through the rest of the day.

Sated for now, Carla exited the café and began the short walk back to the factory where she knew the girls would be desperate for their own sugar injection.

It was as she turned the corner into Rosamund Street, still munching on her custard slice, that Carla got her first inkling that something was wrong, something was very wrong.

She stopped and stared at the ambulance parked outside the bookies flat, holding her breath as she waited to see who was hurt, who was ill. Two paramedics appeared from inside the flat carrying a person laid out on a stretcher. Then two men appeared; Peter and Nick, following the stretcher, their brows furrowed with concern.

Carla broke into a run, the box of cakes and half-eaten custard slice abandoned on the pavement, and raced towards the spectacle.

"What's happened?" she gasped to Nick, clutching at her belly as she regretted her decision to run while carrying such a heavy weight.

"It's Leanne," he said, his eyes focused on her semi-conscious form as the paramedics loaded her into the back of the ambulance. "She's had a fall."

"Oh, god, the baby, is it okay?"

"We don't know."

"Peter!" she called out to her friend as he paced behind the ambulance while his wife was secured inside it. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Oh, Carla," he turned to her, the anguish in his face clear. "No, I, umm… actually, can you pick Simon up from school?"

"Umm, sure."

"Here's the key to the flat. If you can give him his tea, I think there's some chips in the freezer and–"

"Peter, just go," Carla urged him, taking the keys from his hand and giving him a little push towards the ambulance. "Go! Leanne needs you."

"Thank you," he said before climbing into the back of the ambulance.

"I can't believe this is happening," Carla said as she stood next to Nick and watched the ambulance speed away. "Poor Leanne."

"Yeah," Nick muttered, watching with unseeing eyes the street from which the ambulance had so recently disappeared on its way to the hospital, his thoughts entirely on the woman that was inside it.

"Did you see what happened?" Carla asked him. "Were you there?"

"I, umm… I was passing. I stopped to see if I could help."

"Are you okay?" Carla rubbed his arm gently. "You look like you're in shock or summat."

"I'm fine," he brushed off her concern. "Should I…? Do you think I should go to the hospital?"

"The hospital? Why?"

"I dunno," Nick shrugged. "See if there's anything I can do to help."

"Well, unless you've just completed the world's fastest medical degree, I don't see what use you could be."

"Peter could maybe use some support," he suggested feebly.

"From you?" Carla's laughter at this thought faded when she caught sight of Nick's face. "Sorry. You obviously want to go, so go."

"You don't mind?"

"Do what you want, it's nowt to do with me."

"I won't be long," he promised. "I'll just check in."

"Whatever," Carla shrugged. "Hey, listen, what time does school get out?"

"You're asking me?" Nick laughed. "I dunno, three? A little after three?"

"Damn!" Carla cried, checking her watch and realising the time. "I better get going then."

"I'm gonna head down to the–"

"Hospital, yes, I know."

"So, you're okay if I go?"

"I said so, didn't I? Go!"

* * *

Peter paced the floor of the hospital waiting room, his thoughts racing. But every time, he came back to the one thought; this was his fault. If he had just stayed to talk to Leanne, rather than storm out the way he had, she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed at risk of losing their baby. But it might not be your baby, the opposing voice in his mind kept reminding him. She betrayed you, it whispered its mischief into his ear, she deserved it.

"Peter."

The sound of a familiar and yet wholly unwelcome voice snapped Peter out of his introspection.

"What do you want?" he sneered at Nick.

"How is she?"

"How is she?" Peter repeated, the disdain clear in his voice. "You've got some cheek to come here asking after her, after what you did."

"Can we please park what happened with me and Leanne for a while. I just want to know how she is… and how the baby is."

"The baby?" Peter sneered. "Your baby? My baby?"

"Leanne's baby," Nick corrected him. "She's the person we need to be worrying about right now. You and me, we're not important."

But Nick's calm and rational counsel caused Peter to snap. "You couldn't just leave it alone, could you?" Peter spat, allowing his rage to get the better of him and launching himself at his love rival, scrabbling for his throat, throwing wild punches, while Nick merely tried to defend himself. "You couldn't accept that you'd lost and she'd chosen me!"

"She–" Nick gasped as he pressed his palms into Peter's face, pushing him away. "Only chose you– because– she pitied you! She– thought you were– dying!"

Peter twisted his head and ducked, escaping from Nick's grasp and immediately redoubled his attack, charging head first into Nick's torso, wrapping his arm around him, holding him still, while with his free hand, he pounded his fist repeatedly into Nick's stomach.

"Hey! Break it up!"

Peter and Nick both felt strange hands grabbing at them, pulling them apart and shoving them into opposite corners of the waiting room where they stood, panting hard after their altercation.

"What the hell is going on here?" the doctor asked furiously, glancing from Nick to Peter and back again like a teacher chastising a pair of schoolboys.

"Nothing," Nick said, while Peter remained silent, his face, dark as thunder effectively doing the talking for him.

"If it happens again, I will call security. Now, Mr Barlow."

"Yes?" Peter faced the doctor, fear and trepidation heavy on his brow. "How's Leanne? How's the baby?"

"Leanne is doing fine but, I'm sorry to have to tell you this–"

"Oh, god," Peter cried out in despair. "No!"

"There was nothing we could do. Your wife has suffered a miscarriage."

"She's lost the baby?" Peter gasped, his mind unable to fully comprehend the doctor's words.

"She has, I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Can I see her?" Nick asked.

"No!" Peter interjected, his anger resurfacing at the thought of a tender scene being played out between Nick and Leanne. "She's my wife! If anyone's going to see her, it's me."

* * *

Carla looked around her with a feeling of unease. This life, the life of a mother picking up her child from school, of planning what she would cook him for his tea, of preparing his packed lunch, was a life that still seemed completely alien to her, even now that she was more than halfway through her pregnancy.

She smiled warily at the other mothers gathered at the school gates, ignoring the not-so-subtle looks they would shoot her way before turning to each other and gossiping about this new mum on the school run, wondering who she was, whose mother she was, and secretly determining never to let their husbands anywhere near her. They couldn't be trusted, not with someone who looked like her.

But Carla had no desire to be a part of their group, not now, not ever.

"Si!" Carla called out to Simon as she spotted him walking through the gates, surrounded by his little gang of school mates. "Over here!"

"Carla!" he cried out in delighted surprise, running over to her and hugging her with great enthusiasm. "What are you doing here? Where's me dad? It was his turn to pick me up."

"Your dad?" Carla stalled, silently cursing herself for not coming up with a cover story before now. "Your dad has been called away on business, so he asked me to pick you up and give you your tea."

"What about me mum?"

"She… has gone with your dad."

"Oh," Simon screwed up his face for a moment as he considered the veracity of Carla's words. "Okay. Can we have pizza again? Like last time?"

"Umm… no," Carla shook her head resolutely. "I'm gonna make you summat."

"You?" Simon stared at her in horror. "You can't cook!"

"Oi! Cheeky," Carla tweaked Simon's ear playfully. "I can so cook."

"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes and took hold of Carla's hand, an action that both surprised and delighted her. "Come on, then, let's get this over with."

* * *

Peter stood in silence at the door to Leanne's hospital room, watching his wife as she sat on the bed, her face pale and drawn, her eyes downcast.

"Hey," Peter whispered as he tentatively approached her. "How're you feeling?"

"How d'ya think?" Leanne's defensive bite soon gave way to her raw emotions. "Peter," she sobbed, her face crumpling as she let her mask slip. "The baby's gone."

"I know," he rushed to her and, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped her up in his arms and held her close. "I'm so sorry."

"I spose you're happy about it?" Leanne asked, the bitterness in her voice clear.

"What?" Peter gasped, pulling away from her and staring at her, horrified at her suggestion. "How could you say that?"

"It solves everything, doesn't it?" she sneered. "You don't have to worry about raising another man's baby now it's dead."

"Hey! How did I become the bad guy in all this?" Peter cried in frustration. "I wasn't the one what cheated."

"Oh, god, Peter, I'm sorry," Leanne shook her head, pressing her palm to her forehead, exorcising her inner torment. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You are right though," Peter reflected bitterly. "It does solve a lot of problems. The main one being that you can't decide who you want to be with."

"I can!" Leanne cried. "I have. I want you. I want to be your wife."

"So, why did you go back to Nick, hmm? After it nearly destroyed us last time?"

"I got confused, that's all. Seeing you and Carla together–"

"Not this again," Peter rolled his eyes in frustration.

"I admit it, I got jealous and paranoid. I know I should've trusted you, but I couldn't think straight. And Nick, he was there and…"

"You couldn't help yourself?"

"It was a moment of weakness. I needed some comfort. That's all it was. And then I was pregnant and I didn't know what to do for the best. He was adamant he was staying with Carla–"

"What?" Peter physically recoiled from her, leaping off the bed and standing, his body rigid, staring at her in disgust. "You gave him first refusal?"

"It wasn't like that. I was trying to sort it out in me head. It was all such a mess. But, you have to believe me, Peter, I never stopped loving you."

"And what about him? Hmm? Do you love him?"

"I don't, I… I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Maybe?" Leanne shrugged. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to be honest."

"I can see you're all cut up about this, trying to decide who you want. So, let me make this really simple for you. This marriage, it's over."

"Please, Peter."

"What's that old saying, fool me once…"

"I do love you, Peter, I know you won't believe me, but–"

"Save your breath, Lea, I don't wanna hear it. You obviously don't know what you want. Or who you want. But know this, I can't do it anymore, I won't. I'm done."

"We can sort this out, if you'll just–"

"I'm gonna take Simon and stay with me dad for a little bit. You can stay in the flat until you've recovered. But then… I want you out of my life. For good."

* * *

"Peter," Nick called out to Peter as he re-entered the waiting room and made a beeline for the exit opposite. "Can I–"

"No," was Peter's blunt reply, pushing past Nick, wanting to get as far away from that place as he could.

"I need to talk to you," Nick persisted.

"Read the room, Tilsley, I'm not in the mood."

"Peter!" Nick grabbed hold of Peter's arm, refusing to let him leave. "Please, I need to know what you plan on telling Carla."

"Worried I'm gonna spill your dirty little secret, are you?" Peter asked, shaking off Nick's grip.

"Please don't," Nick begged him. "Telling Carla won't make you feel any better."

"I'm not doing you any favours."

"Don't do it for me," Nick said. "Do it for Carla. I know how much you care about her. Telling her what happened now, when it's all in the past, it's done with, it's not going to help. All you'll achieve is hurting her. So please, before you say anything, think about her. And the baby. Do you really want to break up another family?"

* * *

"We've got chips," Carla noted as she squatted in front of the Barlow's freezer, contemplating its contents. "And some of these…" she picked up a bag of frozen yellow chunks and held them in the air for Simon to inspect. "What are these exactly?"

"Chicken nuggets," Simon said, rolling his eyes at Carla's piteous lack of frozen food knowledge.

"Is that okay with you, Si? Chicken nuggets and chips?"

"What sauce is there?"

"Umm…" Carla peered into the fridge, pulling out bottles one-by-one and plonking them onto the countertop. "Mayo… red sauce… brown sauce… umm… chilli sauce I think this is, it's hard to tell."

"Bleurgh!" Simon made his feelings on the mystery chilli sauce perfectly clear. "Can you mix the mayo and the red sauce together?"

"Whatever you want," she said, placing the brown sauce and the chilli sauce back into the fridge and rising to her feet awkwardly, gripping onto the countertop as leverage. "Why don't you do the sauce, here's a bowl and a spoon, and I'll get these into the oven."

Simon climbed up onto a barstool and pulled the sauce bottles towards him, getting straight to work on his special concoction.

"It's fun when you're here," he announced as he tipped the bottle of red sauce upside down and squeezed out half of its contents into the bowl.

"Aww, thanks Si," Carla smiled. "It's fun being here– Woah! Are you sure you've got enough sauce there?"

"I like lots of sauce," Simon explained matter-of-fact. "It's different when it's just mum and dad here, they're always arguing about something these days. Or pretending they're not arguing."

"That's adults, innit," Carla shrugged, restraining herself from asking what Peter and Leanne argued about. "Always got summat on their minds."

"I think I'll stay a kid forever then," Simon announced. "I don't wanna be an adult."

"You know what, Si, I think you just might be onto something."

* * *

Nick sat by Leanne's bedside. An uncomfortable silence had descended over the pair as soon as the social niceties had been done with, the 'I'm sorry for your loss' and the 'How are you feeling?' phrases that sounded trite and hollow between two people like Nick and Leanne who had been through so much together over the years.

"Why did you have to come back?" Leanne cried, breaking the silence. "Why couldn't you have stayed away?"

"What? You're blaming me?"

"We were happy before you came back and decided to mess with us. And then Carla, throwing herself the way she did at Peter. What chance did we have?"

"If you were right for each other, you'd have every chance."

"Peter's dumped me, you know."

"I don't blame him."

"Gee, thanks for your support," Leanne snarled.

"Well, what did you think was gonna happen?"

"I suppose you don't want anything to do with me either?"

"Lea, I–"

"Of course you don't."

"I've got responsibilities, you know that."

"Carla," Leanne sniffed. "Because she's still got her baby."

"Yeah, she's got her baby," Nick clarified. "Our baby. And she's still got me. I can't have anything risk that. I'm sorry."

"So, what?" Leanne shrugged. "You're here to make sure I keep my mouth shut, are you?"

"I'm not gonna lie, I would rather Carla didn't find out about you and me. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you, Lea. Because I do. More than you think. And I want to make sure you're okay."

"Get out."

"Lea, please," Nick pleaded with her. "Let's talk about this."

"I said, get out!"

* * *

"Dad!" Simon cried out in delight as he spotted Peter standing forlornly at the door to the flat. "We're having chicken nuggets and chips for tea and look, I made the sauce all by myself."

"Hey, Si," Peter hitched a smile on his face and greeted his son with a kiss to the top of his head, tousling his curls gently with his fingers. "That looks well tasty."

"Do you want some, dad?" he asked. "There's enough for dad, isn't there, Carla?"

"There's plenty," Carla said. "You wanna grab your dad a plate, Si?"

"Thanks for doing this," Peter said gratefully as he sunk into the chair next to Carla while Simon raced to the kitchen. "It's been a weight off."

"Anytime you need me," Carla affirmed, reaching out and rubbing his arm gently. "How's…?"

But Peter merely shook his head sharply, a non-verbal 'not now', as Simon returned to the table with a plate which Carla immediately began piling high with food.

"Why, thank you chef Connor and chef Barlow," Peter said with a smile, forcing himself to appear cheerful in front of his son. "This looks delicious."

* * *

Carla switched off the light in Simon's bedroom and padded softly back to the living room, pausing at the entrance to watch Peter as he sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

"It's not good news, is it?" Carla asked as she settled into the seat next to Peter, picking up his hand and holding it gently between her own.

"Is Si–?"

"Fast asleep."

"Okay," Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh before speaking again, his voice hoarse and shaky. "She lost the baby."

"Oh, Peter," Carla raised his hand to her lips and kissed it softly. "I'm so sorry, darlin'."

"She's devastated," he said.

"Of course, she is. You must be as well."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You're in shock."

"No, I'm not," Peter shook his head, struggling to find the words to express how he was feeling. "Not really."

"It's understandable–"

"I feel guilty."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I feel guilty for not being devastated," Peter confessed. "Not like Leanne is. Mind you, you wouldn't blame me if you knew the truth. I'm not completely heartless."

"I don't understand, Peter."

"It hasn't been easy for me to wrap me head around either."

"I know it's not the right time, but… this pain, it'll fade and then, who knows, you could try again."

"No," Peter shook his head, adamant.

"Peter–"

"Me and Leanne, we're not ever gonna have a baby. Never."

"O-okay," Carla stammered. "Is there something wrong? You know… medically? With Leanne?"

"If only it were so simple."

"Peter, what's wrong?"

"Isn't losing a baby enough?" he cried.

"There's something else," Carla insisted. "I know you, Peter Barlow, remember? I know when you're not right, and… I just want to help you. Please let me help you."

"You are," Peter reassured her. "Just by being here, you're helping me."

"You can tell me anything, you know that, don't you?"

"I know," he nodded as he slowly turned to face her and, looking her straight in the eye, wondered if she was strong enough.

"So… tell me."

"Carla," Peter began, determined to tell her the truth, knowing she deserved the truth, but when he opened his mouth again, the words refused to come out.

"Peter?" Carla pleaded with him. "Please tell me what's wrong."

But Peter's appetite for revenge, on Leanne, on Nick, on the whole world, faltered when he looked at Carla and then, as he dropped his gaze and caught sight of Carla's baby bump, it abandoned him completely. His happiness, his family, might have been destroyed, but he could not bring himself to destroy her happiness as well. She would not be the collateral damage in Nick and Leanne's affair. No, he would protect her and her family, that precious innocent baby, and even Nick, the man he hated above all others. He would protect them, no matter the cost to himself.


	26. Week 26: Keep your friends close

**Week 26: Keep your friends close**

"Is Peter not home?" Carla asked as she stepped into the living area of the bookies flat, glancing about her curiously.

"No," Leanne answered bluntly. "Look, if you're here to see Peter–"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" Leanne's heart began to beat faster and her breathing shallowed as she stared at Carla nervously. "What about?"

"Look at you," Carla exclaimed as she clocked Leanne's face and reached out to her, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. "It's nothing to worry about, I just wanted to see how you were feeling after, you know…"

"Of course," Leanne said, exhaling with a voluble sigh. "Fancy a brew?"

"Ta," Carla said, watching Leanne intently as she hurried to the kitchen and got to work, switching on the kettle, taking the mugs down from the cupboard, dropping a tea bag into each, and then standing, her palms resting on the edge of the countertop while she stared into nothingness. She looked almost like her usual self, Carla reflected, but she could not hide from observant eyes the tell-tale signs that she was suffering; the pale and blotchy skin, the red and puffy eyes, the lips set into a permanent frown.

Leanne couldn't stop the intense pang of jealousy that coursed through her body when she caught sight of Carla's baby bump while she was placing the teas down onto the coffee table. It wasn't fair, she thought bitterly, that she's got her baby and I don't.

"Thanks," Carla smiled tentatively at Leanne as the other woman sat next to her on the sofa and lapsed into an uneasy silence before suddenly shifting her body to face her visitor, a resolute look on her face.

"You may as well know the truth," Leanne began. "Although I'm surprised he hasn't told you himself."

"Who hasn't told me what?"

"Peter. I assume you've seen him since…"

"Since you lost the baby? I'm sorry, that was a bit… blunt."

"Don't apologise, I need to get used to hearing it. So, have you seen him?"

"I saw him that evening it happened. I was looking after Simon, you see. But I've been down in London on business all week since then. Only got back this afternoon."

"Oh," Leanne furrowed her brow, unsure of how to continue. "Looks like it's up to me then."

"Leanne, if there's something wrong–"

"Me and Peter have split up."

"What?"

"He and Simon are staying with Ken and Deirdre for a while, until… until I find myself somewhere else to live."

"I don't understand," Carla shook her head, struggling to come to terms with Leanne's news. "Why?"

"You need to ask Peter, it was his decision."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Carla said sincerely.

"Are you?"

"Yes, of course I am."

"I thought you would've been jumping for joy now that he's free."

"All that," Carla tried to reassure her. "It's in the past. I've moved on, we've all moved on."

"If only…" Leanne muttered under her breath.

"Listen, Leanne, I know I've done some unforgivable things in the past."

"Like trying to steal my husband?" Leanne laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

"Yes, like that. But… can't we leave all that in the past? I think we've both learned there's more important things in life than holding grudges."

"I guess," Leanne shrugged noncommittally.

"So… friends?"

"Yeah," Leanne nodded, having decided that knowing what Carla was up to was better than wondering. "I'd like that."

"Good, that's sorted then," Carla said with a warm smile. "I hope that means you're coming next weekend?"

"What's happening next weekend?"

"My hens night. I need as many of the girls there as possible, you know, a buffer between me and me future mother-in-law."

"Oh, right."

"But you'd know all about having Gail as a mother-in-law."

"That was a long time ago."

"And then the wedding the weekend after," Carla pressed on, determined to be cheerful. "I mean, Peter's coming as well, is that gonna be weird for you?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I wouldn't miss yours and Nick's wedding for the world."

"A good night out is what you need. A few pints of voddy and you'll be right as rain. You can have all the booze I can't right now… oh, god, I'm sorry, Leanne. I've done it again."

"It's okay, I have to get used to it, don't I. I'm not pregnant anymore, my marriage is in tatters, I'm back to square one."

"You and Peter… it's definitely over?"

"Oh, yes."

"I don't understand what happened. You two seemed so… unshakeable."

"We were, until I…"

"Yes?"

"Until I messed it all up."

"What did you do? No, sorry, you don't need to tell me, it's none of my business."

"No, it's okay, I'll tell you."

Leanne looked Carla in the eye, saw her detached curiosity, her assurance that she was untouchable in the disaster that had become Leanne's life. This was way too easy, Leanne thought, to tell her here, like this. For once, Leanne needed to be patient.

"I didn't trust him," Leanne admitted, purposefully vague with her revelation. "I thought the worst of him but it turns out he's a good man. Much better than I deserve."

* * *

"Carla!" Ken greeted Carla with honest delight as he opened his front door to find her standing on his doorstep. "This is a lovely surprise."

"Who is it, grandad?" a familiar voice called out from the kitchen.

"It's Carla!" Ken called out his reply before turning back to Carla. "What can I do for you?"

"Carla!" Simon cried out as he came running into the hall and, with his usual enthusiasm, greeted her with a hug. "Do you wanna see me painting what I did at school? Please. Grandad can make you some tea, can't you grandad?"

"I certainly can," Ken confirmed. "Would you like to come through to the kitchen?"

"Thanks, Ken," Carla smiled her thanks. "Alright then, mister, let's see your masterpiece."

"What's a masterpiece?" Simon asked as he lead the procession into the kitchen.

"Well, it's a really really good bit of art," Carla explained.

"I dunno about that," Simon pondered his own artistic skills. "I'm not too good painting inside the lines. See?"

Simon held up his painting for Carla's inspection.

"Wow," Carla said as she stared at the painting before pointing at one of the many blobs of paint that were scattered over the sheet. "What is that, Si?"

"A cow," Simon raised his eyebrows, curious as to why Carla couldn't identify what was obviously a cow, to him at least.

"Oh, yeah, I can see it now, I was looking at it the wrong way, see? How about…?"

"Sheep."

"Got it," Carla nodded. "It's as I thought, Si, it's a masterpiece."

"Do you want to keep it?" Simon asked her.

"Me?" Carla was taken aback. "What about your dad? I'm sure he'd love to have it."

"But I want you to have it," Simon insisted.

"Well, then, thank you very much. I'll treasure it. Talking of your dad…"

"Peter's out back," Ken reported from the countertop where he was brewing their tea. "Go on through."

* * *

"Where are you?" Carla asked, breaking the trance Peter seemed to be in as he took a drag on his cigarette. "You look a million miles away."

"I dunno," Peter shrugged. "Somewhere bad things don't happen, where people don't make mistakes."

"Very philosophical. Talking of mistakes, I've just been to see Leanne."

"What?" Peter asked, suddenly panic-stricken. "What did you wanna see her for?"

"I thought she could do with a friend," Carla said. "You know, after the traumatic experience she's just lived through."

"Right."

"Losing her baby, losing her marriage."

"She told you?"

"What's going on, Peter?"

"It's none of your business," Peter snapped, his face twisted into a snarl. "Keep your nose out of it!"

"Fine," Carla said. "If that's how you feel."

Carla turned away from Peter, her arm outstretched and ready to twist the door handle open when Peter grabbed hold of her, pulling her back towards him.

"I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault."

"No, it's not."

"I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Yeah, well," Carla tried to be understanding. "You've been through a traumatic experience and all."

"I'm fine."

"What happened with Leanne?"

"I can't," Peter shook his head and stared at Carla, silently pleading with her to leave it, to let it be.

"She said there were trust issues."

"Did she? What else did she say?"

"Not much," Carla said, studying Peter's reactions intently. "She was pretty cagey about it, in fact."

"There's nothing more to say really," Peter shrugged. "Once the trust is gone…"

"And that's your final word on the matter, is it?"

"It is. Are you gonna accept that?"

"Yes," Carla conceded. "For now."

"You are an exhausting woman, you know that?"

"Stop complaining! You love it really, being kept on your toes."

"Hmmpf!" Peter snorted. "Possibly."

"How's Simon taking it? I know how attached he was to Leanne."

"I haven't told him yet," Peter admitted ruefully. "How am I meant to explain something like that to him?"

"Maybe," Carla began with some hesitation, "I dunno, you're holding back because there's still a chance you'll get back together?"

"No." Peter was adamant.

"How do you know if you won't give her a chance?"

"I've already given her a chance!" Peter cried. "She made me so many promises last time, but she breaks them time and time again. She won't change, Carla, she's incapable."

"Yeah, but that was after her and Nick had the affair. Oh my god, she hasn't? Not again. Who with?"

"No," Peter shook his head, desperate to throw her off the track. "It's nothing like that."

"Well then?"

"Come inside, yeah," he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall. "Otherwise Si'll be cross with me for hogging all your time."

"I know what you're doing," Carla said with narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"Diversionary tactics."

"Are they working?" he grinned at her as he opened the door without further debate and ushered her inside.

"Oh, Carla!" Deirdre cried as Carla stepped into the warm and cosy room. "I didn't know you were here."

"Hiya, Deirdre," Carla greeted her fondly. "You just get in?"

"Been down to Freshco," she reported. "Going to make me famous stuffed marrow for tea. Hey, you don't fancy joining us, do you? There'll be plenty to go round."

"Thanks, but Nick's finishing work soon and we're off into town to do a bit of shopping for bubba."

"Sit down," Ken urged her. "I've made you some tea."

"Thanks, Ken," Carla said, eyeing off the one remaining chair at the table between Simon and Peter. "Room for a little 'un?"

"There is," Peter affirmed, before nodding at her baby bump. "But, umm… I hate to break it to you, you haven't been little for a few months now."

"Oi!" Carla whacked Peter playfully on the arm and turned to Ken. "Has your son always been this cheeky?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I remember when our Tracy was a baby," Deirdre reminisced as she took a break from unloading her shopping and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "So sweet and innocent."

"What went wrong, hey Deirdre?" Peter asked, winking at Carla conspiratorially.

"Peter!" Deirdre shot him a warning look. "All I'm saying, Carla, is enjoy your little one while he's still young. Before you know it, thirty years will have passed–"

"And he'll be whacking his partner over the head with the closest objet d'art to hand, just like our Trace."

"There's no talking to you when you're like this," Deirdre huffed, turning her back on those gathered at the table to focus again on her shopping.

"Who did Aunt Tracy whack?" Simon asked solemnly, glancing from his dad to his grandad with wide innocent eyes.

"Umm…" Peter baulked, trying to find a way out of his blunder, when Carla burst into laughter, amused at Peter's gaffe. Soon enough Ken joined in and then Simon, even though he had no idea what he was laughing at.

* * *

"Is that your phone, Carla?" Peter asked, nodding towards Carla's handbag that was resting on the sofa.

Carla grabbed her bag and, after a quick rummage, pulled out her ringing phone.

"It's Nick," she announced, rising to her feet and pointing towards the hallway door. "Can I…?"

"Go," Ken urged her.

"Hiya babe," Carla purred into the phone. "Are you finished? … No, I'm not at the factory … I'm at the Barlow's … Ken and Deirdre's … because I wanted to– it doesn't matter why I'm here … okay, I'll see you in a few minutes … love you too."

* * *

_Tap tap tap_

"That'll be Nick," Carla said, rising to her feet. "Thank you for the tea–"

"Don't forget your painting," Simon interrupted, holding his gift out to her.

"As if I would forget," Carla said, taking Simon's painting from his outstretched hands and tousling his curls affectionately. "Thanks, Si."

"I'll walk you out," Peter said, jumping up from his seat as Carla turned to go.

"Oh, okay."

"Thank you," Peter spoke softly to her as soon as they were out of earshot. "You know, for coming round, checking in."

"Well, that's what friends are for, right?"

"Yeah, friends."

"I better…" Carla nodded towards the door, breaking Peter's lingering eye contact with some difficulty.

"Right."

"Oh, and Peter?" Carla added. "Talk to Si, yeah? Tell him what's going on, before he hears it from someone else."

"I will," Peter promised, reaching out and giving her arm a friendly squeeze.

* * *

The smile on Nick's face faded when he spotted Peter standing beside Carla. He didn't like the way he was looking at her, the way his arm was falling to his side as if he had recently been touching her.

"You ready then?" an oblivious Carla asked Nick. "To brave the shops?"

"Can't wait," Nick replied, his steely gaze his focused on Peter. "So, what have you two been up to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Peter replied cryptically, a scowl darkening his brow.

"We've been having tea," Carla said, glancing suspiciously between the two men. "All of us. Are we going now or what?"

"Yeah," Nick said, his and Peter's eyes still locked in an intense battle of wills. "Let's get outta here."

* * *

"So, mumma-to-be," Nick said, draping his arm over Carla's shoulder as they walked away down Coronation Street. "Should my credit card be quivering in fear?"

"Forget that for a minute," Carla dismissed him. "Has something happened between you two?"

"Who?"

"You and Peter."

"Me and Peter…? What do ya mean?"

"I sensed, I dunno, a weird vibe between you two just then. There was a definite vibe."

"Well, we've never been the best of friends, have we?"

"But… that's all in the past now, innit?"

"Maybe he's still holding I grudge," Nick shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, whatever it is, I hope you two are friends again in time for your stag do next weekend."

"I don't think he'll want to come."

"Why not? Leanne's coming to mine."

"You've spoken to her?"

"Yeah, I popped round earlier to have a chat. Did you know her and Peter had split up?"

"I'd heard rumours," Nick answered as noncommittally as he could. "How is she?"

"Not the best, to be honest. She's feeling pretty low, what with losing the baby and splitting from Peter."

"And she didn't say anything about…"

"About what?"

"What happened between her and Peter."

"Not really, no."

"I guess it's none of our business."

Nick prayed that would be the last of Carla's questions; that she would accept the ending of her friend's marriage without wondering for too long about the whys and wherefores. As long as Peter and Leanne both kept their mouths shut, he would be safe.

* * *

Leanne stood at the window and stared down at Carla and Nick as they walked, his arm wrapped protectively around her, her arm snaked around his waist. They looked happy, she thought, too happy. They didn't deserve to be happy, not when she had lost everything.

Leanne sneered as she watched Nick kiss Carla on the top of her head. Her lip curled up, an outward sign of the loathing she felt for the happy couple on the street. She would let them have this moment; she knew they wouldn't have many more, not happy ones, not if she had anything to do with it.


	27. Week 27: Last night of freedom

**Week 27: Last night of freedom**

Nick whistled appreciatively when he caught sight of Carla coming out of the bedroom; she was wearing a clingy dress in a black fabric that had the merest hint of a sparkle, causing her to glimmer as she moved. The neckline was an off-the-shoulder bardot style, the dress itself hugged her curves, over her breasts and her hips, her baby bump, and her legs, ending just below her knees.

"Wow!" he gasped. "You look fabulous."

"You like?" Carla smiled self-consciously, running her hands over the fabric, especially that which stretched over her baby bump. "You don't think it's too…"

"Too…?"

"Showy? You know, of…" she made a point of motioning towards her bump with a flourish of her hands and a grimace on her face. "Everything?"

"I think it's perfect," he reassured her, pulling her in for a quick kiss. "You're perfect."

"Good answer," Carla sighed. "Although I'm really not looking forward to tonight."

"Why not? This is your night, remember."

"Truth is, I'm not used to doing these things without a few drinks inside me," Carla lamented. "I'm gonna be stone cold sober, while you, you can go crazy."

"I won't drink too much," he promised. "I'll stick to the juice. Solidarity with my bride-to-be."

"Hey, don't hold back on my account. I want you to have a good time tonight."

"So… you'll be okay with me, I dunno, getting drunk, me eyebrows shaved off, walking the streets in nothing but me pants?"

"I want you back in one piece, alright? Eyebrows included."

"I'll try my best. One thing I can guarantee you though, is no strippers."

"I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Well," Carla shrugged, trying hard to be nonchalant. "It's tradition innit?"

"I don't care if it's tradition, I'm not interested in watching scantily clad women dancing around provocatively. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless it's you what's doing the dancing."

"Even with me looking like a beached whale?"

"What can I say? I'm very much into the beached whale look."

* * *

"What d'ya say, lads?" David called out to the assembled men at the downtown bar. "Next stop the, ahem, gentlemen's club?"

"No." Nick's voice was the lone dissenter amongst the enthusiastic hollers from the rest of the group. "Definitely not."

"That's settled, then," David raised his hands in victory.

"Sorry, lads, but I promised Carla, no strippers."

"We know who wears the trousers in that relationship," Steve called out.

"Actually, Carla was cool with it, it was me that didn't want one. The future Mrs Tilsley is the only woman I want to see like that."

"What? Wrapped around a pole wearing nowt but her smalls?" Sean asked.

"Well…" Nick raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"You are full of surprises," Peter interjected sullenly.

"What?" Nick laughed. "You can't be surprised that I enjoy having a drop-dead gorgeous woman at home?"

"No," Peter shrugged. "That you'd want to limit yourself to just one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick snapped, rounding on Peter.

"Or is it the look but don't touch rule you don't like?" Peter pressed on with his verbal attack.

"I think it's my round," David said in an attempt to deescalate tensions. "What'll it be? Pints with tequila chasers?"

* * *

"And this," Gail announced, approaching Carla, her hands full of a satiny fabric, baby pink with white writing. "Is for the bride to be."

"Gail!" Carla gasped with a mixture of surprise and despair, reluctantly allowing her future mother-in-law to drape the sash over her shoulder so that it cut right across her dress. "I guess there's no mistaking me now."

"You look lovely," Gail said, a broad smile on her face. "Blooming I think is the word. My son is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Gail," Carla plastered a smile on her face, desperately searching for an out. "Oh, look, cocktails!"

Carla took the opportunity to grab two drinks and corral Kylie into a corner of the semi-private function area of the restaurant-come-bar she'd booked for the evening's festivities.

"I hope that's–"

"Don't worry, it's non-alcoholic," Carla confirmed of the drink she was sipping, before handing Kylie the other. "That one is most definitely alcoholic."

"Sweet," Kylie grinned, happily taking the drink from Carla and gulping down a big mouthful. "Thanks."

"Now, listen," Carla said. "Before you all get too rowdy, I wanted to talk to you about summat."

"Uh oh," Kylie screwed up her face in nervous anticipation. "What have I done?"

"I don't know," Carla shrugged. "Do you have a guilty conscience or summat?"

"Ha! No, just a lifetime of 'we need to talk' conversations being about summat or other I've messed up."

"Well, you haven't. Actually, it's not so much I wanted to talk, more that I wanted to ask you a question."

"Oh?"

"I know it's last minute," Carla rambled. "Well, everything about this wedding is last minute, let's not kid ourselves."

"Just spit it out, yeah?"

"Fancy being my bridesmaid?"

"Are you serious?"

"Who else am I gonna ask?" Carla confessed. "These past few months you have become… well, pretty much my best friend. I don't think you realise how much I've come to rely on you, and I'm not just talking in the factory."

"Aww, babes, I feel the same."

"So…?" Carla prompted Kylie for an answer. "You'll do it?"

"Yes!" Kylie said, grabbing a hold of Carla's shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. "Try and stop me."

* * *

"What's up with Barlow?" David asked, sidling up to his brother at the bar. "He's a right miserable git tonight."

"Nothing," Nick said gruffly. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"D'ya want me to have a word with him?"

"No!" Nick barked. "I want you to leave it."

"But, you can't let him get away with this, he's–"

"David, I said–"

"No, Nick, this is your night."

"He knows, alright," Nick hissed, leaning his head in close to his brother's, terrified that someone would overhear. "He knows."

"He knows?" David screwed up his face, struggling to decipher Nick's cryptic words. "What does he know?"

"Me and Leanne," Nick confessed. "He knows everything. Why do you think they split up?"

"That don't mean he can–"

"Which is why I don't want you interfering. I have to keep him on side, make sure he doesn't spill the beans to Carla."

"That is a dangerous game, mate," David shook his head. "A very dangerous game."

"What else can I do?" Nick shrugged. "I can't risk Carla finding out."

"Maybe, I dunno, if you sat Carla down and told her what happened in your own words, she might–"

"No."

"You can't hide the truth forever, you know it's gonna come out sooner or later. If you're honest with her now–"

"Shut up!" Nick snapped, grabbing hold of David's shirt and, spinning him around, shoved him up against the bar so that the smooth, polished wood dug into his little brother's back. "Mind your own business."

"Alright alright!" David struggled against his brother's grip. "Calm down."

"Stop telling me what to do!" Nick snarled. "This is my whole future we're talking about. I'm not about to lose everything now."

* * *

"Now, listen, I wasn't sure about Carla at first," Gail confessed, her champagne glass clutched in one hand, while the other gripped onto the back of the chair in front of her, the only thing keeping her upright at that moment in time. "All fur coat and no knickers. Didn't I say that to you, mam?" Gail peered around, searching for her mother's face in the crowd that was watching her give her speech. "Mam!"

"Yes, dearie, you did," Audrey confirmed through gritted teeth. "More than once."

"Our Gail's not one to hold back, is she?" Kylie whispered to Carla as nervous laughter tittered around the group. "I dread to think what she said to Audrey about me when I first rocked up. What she said to me face was bad enough."

"She's protective of her boys is all," Carla said generously.

"Hmm…" Kylie shrugged. "Maybe."

"But, over the past few months I've gotten to know her, she'll come round for her tea and we'll have a little chat, and… well, I'm not ashamed to admit it, I was wrong about her. And what's more, I've grown to love her like a daughter."

"Oh, Gail," Carla was genuinely touched by Gail's words.

"And I know that, not only will she make a good wife for my son, she will be a wonderful mother to my grandson."

"I wouldn't count me chickens just yet if I were Gail," Leanne hissed drunkenly into Maria's ear, loud enough for most of the hen's night guests to overhear. "I mean, how many husbands is it she's buried?"

"I know it's not a first marriage for either of them," Gail continued, determined to drown Leanne out. "But I know this is the one that will last."

"Who'll take me bet?" Leanne called out. "I reckon less than a year before Nick's either dead or psychotic."

"Because, unlike Nick's previous marriage," Gail aimed her verbal dagger right at Leanne's heart. "This one is based on mutual love and respect."

"Yeah, right," Leanne sneered.

"What is going on?" Carla whispered to Kylie.

"Umm…" Kylie shrugged as she watched the horrific tableaux before her. "I don't know, but I'm not having it." Kylie rose to her feet and held her glass in the air. "To Carla!" she called out.

"To Carla!" the guests cried in unison, raising their glasses and taking a drink.

"The best sister-in-law I could hope for," Kylie finished by kissing Carla fondly on the cheek. "Welcome to the madhouse, sis."

"Thank you," Carla said tearfully. "And thank you, Gail. It means a lot to be welcomed so warmly into your family."

Gail tottered over to where Carla was sitting and, wrapping her arms around her, pulled her in for a warm hug. It must be the hormones, Carla thought to herself, that were making her so emotional. She smiled at the thought of her, Carla Connor, being welcomed so ardently by a future mother-in-law. It was a wholly new sensation for her, one that she rather enjoyed. That is, until she opened her eyes and saw Leanne staring at her with what was undeniable hatred in her eyes.

* * *

David pushed his way past the throng of people trying to enter the pub, going against the tide of revellers on his quest to make things right. As he stepped into the warm summer night, he peered up and down the street, through the crowds that were milling around, until he spotted him, slouching, his back up against the wall, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"What d'ya think you're playing at?" he demanded, instantly in aggressor mode as he stormed up to Peter. "Hmm? You can't let him have one night?"

"What?" Peter barked, screwing up his face as he glared at this mouthy kid who was trying to act the tough man in front of him.

"What?" David mimicked Peter. "You know exactly what! Your snarky comments about me brother."

Peter merely shrugged, dismissing David out of hand. "No idea what you're talking about," he huffed.

"Look, I know you've got good reason to be mad at Nick, but can you just give him this one night to enjoy himself without having to look at your miserable mug."

"What did you say?"

"I said, whack a smile on yer face or get lost!"

"No, you said you knew why I was mad at Nick."

"Well, yeah," David said. "He's me brother."

"When did you find out?"

"Umm…"

"I'll make this easy for ya," Peter pressed on. "Was it before or after the miscarriage?"

"Listen, I–"

"You knew about your brother and my wife, that they were screwing around again, and you didn't say owt?"

"Well I wouldn't, would I? My loyalties are to him, not you."

"Thanks for that, David," Peter said, his upper lip curling into a bitter sneer. "You've made things very clear."

"I don't… what are you…?"

"Your loyalties are to Nick? That's fine, I get that. Well, mine are to Carla. And it's time she learned the truth."

* * *

Kylie edged her way through the crowded restaurant, her eyes glued to the blonde-haired figure in front of her.

"Right, you!" Kylie grabbed hold of Leanne as she pushed open the toilet door and shoved her inside, pinning her up against the wall.

"Oi!" Leanne shrieked. "Gerroff me you crazy bitch!"

"Keep going and you'll find out just how crazy I can be," Kylie snarled, her face no more than an inch away from Leanne's.

"What d'ya want?"

"I want you to stop trying to ruin Carla's night with your bitchy little comments."

"Ha!" Leanne laughed bitterly. "I haven't even started yet, sweetheart."

"Ugh."

Both women turned in surprise to stare at the open door in horror, Kylie's grip on Leanne immediately loosened as she recognised the newcomer.

"The amount of times I've come in here tonight," Carla bemoaned. "I swear this baby's doing a jig on me bladder."

"Yeah," Kylie smiled nervously. "I remember Max was the same."

"Are you two alright?" Carla asked suspiciously. "I feel like I'm back in school. You two've got that same look as me and me mates when the teacher'd bust us having a smoke in the bogs. Ooh ey, you ain't been smoking now, have you?"

"As if!" Kylie laughed off Carla's suggestion. "Just some girl talk is all. Isn't that right, Leanne?"

"Yeah," Leanne smiled, feigning innocence. "Just girl talk."

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna…" Carla pointed to one of the stalls and, with a last confused look at Kylie and Leanne, disappeared inside, reappearing within minutes to find the pair in the exact same position she'd left them in.

"Are you sure you two are alright?" Carla asked as she washed her hands. "You're both acting kinda… weird."

"Yeah, we're fine," Kylie nodded, turning to Leanne. "Aren't we?"

"Just fine."

"You're not planning anything for later are you? Cause I'm really not into–"

"Cross my heart, we've got nothing planned."

"Okay, well, don't stay in here all night."

"We won't." Kylie waited until the door had swung closed behind Carla before turning her attention once again to Leanne. "Now, where were we?"

"Ahhhh…" Leanne screwed up her face in mock concentration. "I believe you were insulting me and threatening me."

"Thanks," Kylie smiled back at her with the same derisive attitude. "So, are you gonna behave yourself?"

"Why should I?"

"Because this is Carla's night," Kylie hissed. "What has she ever done to you that you'd wanna ruin it for her?"

"Where do I start?" Leanne asked, rolling her eyes.

"I mean lately?"

"You don't understand," Leanne cried out in frustration. "I've lost everything."

"I'm sorry for what you've been through, I really am, but that's not Carla's fault."

"No, it's not," Leanne grudgingly agreed. "It's my fault. And Nick's."

"Nick?" Kylie's eyes narrowed with suspicion at the mention of her brother-in-law. "What's Nick got to do with it?"

"Come on, Kylie, you're a smart girl. You know how the world works."

"Was Nick…? Did you and Nick…?"

"Bingo!" Leanne cried.

"He must have been outta his mind."

"He wanted it. He wanted me."

"Carla can't find out," Kylie insisted. "Not ever."

"Why not?"

"Because she's carrying his baby, you stupid cow."

"And what are you gonna do to stop me?"

* * *

Peter sat hunched on the stool, his elbows propped up on the bar, his gaze fixed on the two objects in front of him. He picked up the first, his phone, and held it in his hand. One step at a time, he thought, build up your courage. He unlocked the phone and opened his contacts folder, scrolling through the A's and the B's until he came to the C's. Carla Connor.

His thumb hovered over the screen but something was holding him back. She deserves to know, he reminded himself. But she doesn't deserve to get her heart broken.

He placed his phone back down onto the bar and reached instead for the second object, encircling the lowball tumbler in his hand, swilling the double shot of whiskey that was inside it, around and around. For a moment, he was almost hypnotised by the whiskey as it sloshed around the glass. There was no ice to dilute it, to desecrate it. It was neat. Pure.

He was ready; he raised the glass towards his lips. The plan was to knock it back with confidence in one clean shot, but his body betrayed him. His hand began to shake and he had to stop, the glass held in mid-air, and try to regain his nerve.

It's easy, he told himself as he took a deep breath, in and out. You've done it before, you can do it again. His nerves and his hand now steady, he moved the glass once more towards his lips. He could already taste the fiery liquid long before it came anywhere close to his tongue, the mere memory of it was so ingrained in his consciousness that the anticipation was almost as intoxicating as the reality. But not quite. He wanted the real thing, he craved it, and he was about to have it, to feel that familiar burn as it drained down his throat. The glass was within inches of his lips when a strange hand clamped firmly over the glass and pushed it back down onto the bar.

"Don't do it," Nick implored him.

"You gonna take this from me as well as taking me wife?"

"You'll regret it in the morning."

"Did you?" Peter focused his gaze on Nick, studying him, wanting to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt. "Regret sleeping with Leanne?"

"Yes," Nick freely admitted. "I am sorry, you know. For how this has hurt you. And her."

"I hate that I'm lying to Carla to keep your dirty little secret."

"I know what it must cost you, given how you feel about me," Nick said. "But you're doing the right thing."

"She deserves to know," Peter maintained.

"Probably. And if it was just me who'd be affected, I'd say go for it, you owe me nothing. But if you do, it won't just be me who suffers, it will be Carla as well. And I know you don't believe she deserves that, to have her life torn apart, her family ripped from her."

"No, she doesn't."

"I do love her, you know."

"You better do. Because if there's one thing she does deserve, it's happiness."

"Even if I give it to her?" Nick asked.

"Even then."

* * *

"I love you," Gail slurred as she clung to Carla's arm, her hands pawing at her, her cheek lolling against Carla's shoulder. "You know that, don't you? I– love you."

"That's nice," Carla smiled awkwardly. "Why don't I call you a tax–"

"And my Nicky," she continued, tilting her head back and peering up into Carla's eyes through her own glassy ones. "He's a good boy."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"What's this about, Gail?"

"Because he loves you so so so… so much," Gail said. "And I need to know, because I am his mother and a mother needs to know these things… I need to know that you are marrying my Nicky for the right reasons, not just because you're having his baby."

"Gail, I'm marrying your son because I love him. Do I love him more because he's the father of my baby? Of course. But don't doubt that the love was there already."

Gail wrapped her arms around Carla and squeezed her tight. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

"That's, umm…"

"You're very…" Gail muttered as she nuzzled her face into Carla's shoulder, "…snuggly, mmm…"

"Come on, Gail, dearie," Audrey said, arriving just in time to rescue Carla, gently pulling her daughter away from the bride-to-be. "Let's get you home, hmm?"

"But–" Gail protested. "I was talking to…"

"Carla."

"I know her name!" Gail cried in outrage. "I was talking to Carla."

"Yes, lovie, I know. Why don't you come with me, hmm?"

'Thank you,' Carla mouthed her gratitude to Audrey as she led Gail away. "Oh, there you are," she called out as she spotted Kylie and Leanne finally make their reappearance at the party. "I thought you might've fallen in."

"I need a drink," Leanne muttered, breaking away from Kylie and making a beeline for the bar.

"Is she alright?" Carla asked Kylie.

"Yeah, she's just a mardy cow drunk is all."

"Is that a thing? Mardy cow drunk?"

"It is where that one's concerned."

"Give her a break, yeah. She's been through a lot lately."

"Haven't we all?" Kylie muttered.

"Just… play nice," Carla pleaded. "Oh, hold on." Carla pulled her phone out of the slimline black evening bag she had slung across her shoulders and glanced at the screen. "It's Nick," she reported. "I'm gonna take it outside."

"Hey, babe," she spoke into the phone as she made her way through the crowd to the front door of the restaurant.

"Carla?" Nick's voice came through faint against the backdrop of animated conversations that surrounded Carla. "Can you hear me?"

"Hold on," she said. "I'm just going outside … okay, I'm outside now. Can you hear me?"

"I can," he said. "How's your night going?"

"Besides fending off your drunken mother?"

"Oh, god, she didn't…?"

"She wasn't too bad," Carla reassured him. "What about you? You should be at the bar drinking with the boys, not calling me."

"The thing is…"

"What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," Nick reassured her. "I just thought that you might need rescuing."

"Rescuing?" Carla asked. "Do you mean from your mother?"

"Amongst other things."

"You know what, a few minutes respite talking to you sounds like heaven."

"Oh, I think we can do a little better than that."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Eyes left."

Carla looked to her left and was shocked to see Nick striding along the footpath towards her, his phone pressed to his ear and a broad grin on his face. She wasted no time; lowering her phone, she teetered as fast as the combination of her heels and baby belly allowed towards her fiancé, launching herself into his arms, her happiness to see him was so great.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, relaxing her grip on him the smallest amount after a protracted embrace.

"I missed you."

"You left your own stag do because you missed me?"

"Yes," he affirmed, kissing her softly on the lips as his arms remained firmly wrapped around her waist. "I couldn't bear to be apart from you another moment."

"But, what about the boys?"

"I don't think they'll even notice I'm gone, not in the state they're in. The question is, are you in a hurry to get back inside to the girls?"

"Not at all," Carla shook her head, leaning into Nick's embrace, snuggling her head under his chin. "Take me home, yeah. And who knows, you might even get your beached whale stripper moment after all."


	28. Week 28: For better or worse - Part I

**Week 28: For better or worse – Part I**

"David!" Kylie stood at the bottom of the staircase of Number 8 Coronation Street and yelled up to her husband. "I'm ready to go!"

All around her was silence as she waited, impatiently chewing on her lower lip and tapping her foot. "Hurry up, David," she muttered, glancing across at the clock opposite and then, as she heard footsteps, up the staircase. "Oh, it's you."

"You heading over to Carla's now?" Nick asked.

"No, I'm off to Roy's for a bacon butty. Of course I'm going to Carla's."

"Alright," Nick raised his eyebrows, bemused by Kylie's acerbic tone. "Just trying to be friendly."

"I don't care if you're friendly to me or not, all I care about is how you treat Carla."

"When have I ever mistreated Carla?" Nick asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Have I done something to offend you?"

Kylie glanced at Nick hesitantly, cursing herself for not hiding her feelings better while frantically trying to find an escape route.

"Kylie?" Nick pressed her.

"Forget about it," she tried to shrug it off, quite ineffectually as it turned out. "It's nothing."

"No," Nick refused to let it go, determined to get to the bottom of Kylie's harsh words. "Tell me, what is your problem with me?"

"Fine," Kylie rolled her eyes and, looking him squarely in the eye, cryptically revealed, "I know."

"Know what?"

"About you and Leanne."

"Oh, right," Nick stammered, his mind racing with all the possible consequences of Kylie's admission. "What are you, umm… are you, umm…"

"Am I gonna tell Carla?"

"Well, are you?"

"I don't wanna hurt her like that."

"Neither do I."

"Then why did you do it?" Kylie cried. "Why did you cheat on her?"

"Shhh!"

"Don't you dare shush me!" Kylie snarled. "Well?"

"It was a mistake. A stupid mistake. I love Carla, okay. You have to believe me, Kylie, I love Carla and I want to marry her."

"I really hope you're being sincere."

"I am."

"You off then?" David asked as he came bounding down the stairs.

"Yep," Kylie plastered on a smile and gave her husband a quick peck on the lips.

"You right to get there?"

"Cab's gonna be here in a minute–" _Beep beep!_ "Right on cue."

"I'll see you at the wedding, then." David farewelled his wife before sauntering into the kitchen. "You fancy a fry-up, Nick?"

"Yeah, whatever," Nick brushed off his brother, instead following Kylie to the front door. "Kylie, wait!"

"I have to go."

"Just, please, tell me–" Nick's voice faltered as Kylie disappeared with a bang of the door.

* * *

Peter leaned his head against the garden wall of his father's house and watched the smoke rings float up into the air and then dissipate into nothingness. He raised his cigarette to his lips, sucking the smoke in through the filter, into his lungs and then out again, formed his mouth into a perfect 'o', and then watched as he sent another batch of smoke rings into the atmosphere.

These repetitive actions of blowing smoke rings was soothing to him, almost hypnotic, a release for his nerves, a benign focus for his mind on a day when he needed every distraction possible. For today was the day; Carla was marrying him. He wondered what her life would be like from now on, married to a man who'd already cheated on her. How could she hope to have a happy life under those circumstances?

Leaving the cigarette to dangle precariously from the corner of his mouth, Peter pulled out his mobile phone. Now what? He held the phone in his hand, unsure of what to do next. Needing to be doing something, to be taking some sort of action, he opened his messages, created a new message and began typing.

_Hey_ he typed. Hey what? _Hey, your fiancé who you're meant to be marrying today is a cheating scumbag_? He backspaced to an empty screen and started again.

_Good morning._ His second attempt was even worse than his first, with the important words refusing to come to his mind. And so, once again, he reverted back to an empty screen.

"Peter!" Ken called out from the back door. "Simon's suit, where did you put it? It's not in his wardrobe."

"Oh, right," Peter racked his brain as he tried to remember where he'd stashed the dry cleaning he'd picked up the day before. "I'll come in, sort him out."

"Don't be too long," Ken warned him. "There's already a queue forming for the bathroom."

As his father retreated back inside the house, Peter focused his attention back on that empty screen. Under pressure now, he quickly typed a new message and pressed send before he could second-guess himself.

* * *

"It's me!" Kylie's voice crackled through Carla's intercom.

"Come up," Carla said, pressing the main door release button and unlatching her front door.

_Beep beep_

Carla hurried to the kitchen counter and picked up her phone, opening the newly received text message and reading it.

"Is that from Nick?" Kylie asked as she walked in the door, her arms full of garment bags and boxes.

"No. Why do say that?"

"I dunno," Kylie shrugged, dumping her stuff down onto the sofa. "That smile on your face, I thought…"

"It was Peter," Carla revealed. "Just wishing me luck for the day."

"Aww, isn't he a sweetie?"

"Yeah," Carla agreed with a little smile. "He is."

"So," Kylie prompted her. "What needs doing?"

"Ugh," Carla rolled her eyes. "I love my dress and all, but it's impossible to get into it with this little guy in the way," she patted her bump fondly. "I can't quite reach."

"Right, then, let's get you dressed."

* * *

"Dad! Dad!" Simon called, running into the kitchen, his waistcoat flapping in his wake and his bow tie hanging limply around his neck. "Help me!"

"Oh, Si," Peter shook his head. "Look at you. Come here."

Simon stood obediently still as his dad tucked in his shirt for him and buttoned up his waistcoat.

"What about this, dad?" Simon held out the bow tie.

"Ahh…" Peter took the piece of fabric from his son's hand and stared at it, flummoxed. "It's fine, I can figure this out."

Peter crouched in front of Simon and, wrapping the tie around his neck, proceeded to tie it into a bow, or at least he tried. Unsuccessfully.

"Dad?"

"Mmm…?"

"You don't know what you're doing, do ya?"

"Umm…" Peter raised his eyes to look into Simons and grinned. "No idea."

"Grandad!" Simon yelled.

"Hey, mate! No need to call grandad, we can work this out."

"Yeah, right," Simon rolled his eyes and shouted again, "Grandad!"

"Did I hear a– well, look what we've got here," Ken said as he entered the room. "Don't you look smart."

"Me dad don't know how to tie this," he said, holding the bow tie in the air. "He's useless."

"I'm sure he's not."

"It's meant to be a bow," Simon explained matter-of-fact.

"A bow you say," Ken said with a smile, taking the tie from Simon and, standing behind him, draped it around his neck. "Luckily for you, I've been around long enough to know how these little beauties work. Now, what you have to do is take this end here, see?"

Peter smiled as he watched his father teach his son something so simple as how to tie a bow tie, unable to keep his mind from wandering, thinking about how it should have been for him and Simon on a day like today. They should've been at home, with Leanne, getting ready together as a family. And then, not for the first time, Peter wondered if it was cruel for him to separate Simon from Leanne like this. Would his son be better off if they were to go back home?

* * *

"How're you feeling?" Kylie asked, turning to Carla as they sat in the back seat of the vintage Rolls Royce, en route to the Bistro where both the ceremony and reception were taking place. "Nervous?"

"Umm…" Carla hesitated while she mused on her condition. "Not nervous, I mean I've done this all before, more than once. Excited, definitely. I think mainly because this time is different to those other times. Nick's different, you know?"

"He's a man," Kylie shrugged. "None of 'ems perfect."

"Ha! True, but… he's a good man. And I know he'll make a good husband and a good father."

"I'm sure."

"I mean, he's honest and he's reliable for a start. Sure, life with Nick might not be that exciting and unpredictable wild ride like it was with Paul and Tony, but then Nick's not gonna turn out to be a serial cheater or a psychopathic murderer either."

"I guess that's some consolation."

"It probably sounds boring to you, but the older I get, the more I value those steady, predictable and yes, boring qualities. More so since I got pregnant. I've got this one to think about now, don't I? It's not just about me anymore."

"No, I can see that."

"Ooh, here we go," Carla announced excitedly, grabbing hold of Kylie's hand as the car turned onto Coronation Street and rumbled down the cobbles. "How do I look? Is my makeup okay?"

"You look stunning," Kylie assured her. "And you know it."

"Thanks," Carla smiled absently as the car rolled to a stop, her whole focus now on the man that was waiting for her inside the building that was looming large in front of them. "Shall we?"

Kylie hurried out of the car and around to Carla's side to help her out safely, to keep her dress in pristine condition and off the dirty cobbles. But, as Carla took her first tentative steps towards the Bistro, Kylie instinctively reached out and grabbed hold of her arm.

"Carla, wait!"

"What is it?" Carla asked, turning around to face Kylie, a questioning look on her face.

"Umm…" Kylie's heart began to beat fast, suddenly terrified at the knowledge of what she was about to do. "I need to talk to you… before you…"

"Can't it wait? I've got a rather important date, you know, getting married."

"I'm sorry, it really can't wait. Can we…?" she motioned towards Number 8 and ushered a confused Carla towards the front door and then inside to the peace and quiet within, the remaining residents having already made their way to the Bistro.

"What's going on, Kylie?"

"Oh, god," Kylie gasped. Now that she was on the verge of revealing all, she was scared to speak.

"Kylie, what–"

"I know I should've said something as soon as I found out," Kylie began to ramble, afraid to stop now that she had finally begun. "But you were so happy. I didn't want to upset you. I didn't know what to do for the best."

"Kylie, you're starting to freak me out. Can you please just say whatever it is you've got to say, because I'm getting married in… less than five minutes."

"Okay," Kylie said, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a long sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't want to do this to you–"

"Spit it out, Kylie!"

"It's about Nick. Nick and Leanne."

* * *

"Isn't this lovely," Deirdre gushed as she gazed at the decorations that bedecked the Bistro dining room. The tables had been removed and the chairs had been laid out in rows facing an altar. The entire room had been simply adorned with draped white chiffon and bunches of cascading white peonies off set with rich green foliage.

"Yes," Ken agreed. "Very nice. What do you think, Peter?" But Peter's attention was diverted elsewhere. "Peter?"

"Sorry, dad, what?"

"The flowers? Aren't they nice?"

"Yeah, very nice. Listen, do you wanna grab a seat, I need to take care of summat."

"But, Peter–"

Peter ignored his father's pleas and hurried towards the Bistro office. He had only caught a brief glimpse, but he was certain, it was her. And whatever she was up to, he was not going to put up with it, not today of all days.

And so, without bothering to knock or wait for an invitation, Peter opened the office door and stepped inside.

"Well, well, well," he said, looking with disgust from Nick to Leanne who were standing way too close together for his liking, an expression of guilt on each of their faces. "What do we have here?"

"It's not what it looks like," Nick immediately proclaimed his innocence, and stepped away from Leanne, his hands in the air.

"That's what they all say," Peter sneered.

"Peter–" Leanne began.

"You shut up!" Peter dismissed her out of hand, his focus remaining entirely on Nick. "You are meant to be getting married."

"I am getting married."

"Then why are you in here cosying up to her?"

"I didn't invite her in here," Nick declared in his own defence. "I don't want her here. I want to go out there and get married. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do right now. If you can't control your wife, take her home."

"She's not my wife."

"Whatever. Just keep her away from me."

Without so much as a glance in Leanne's direction, Nick stalked out of the office, leaving the estranged husband and wife alone together for the first time in weeks.

"Have you got no shame?" Peter didn't hesitate to launch his attack. "The man's about to get married."

"Maybe he is," Leanne shrugged. "Maybe he isn't."

"What's that supposed to mean? You better not be planning nothing."

"Let's just say, I don't think the bride will want to go through with the ceremony when she finds out what her beloved has been up to."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would. And I will. Unless…"

"Oh god, what are you plotting?"

"No plotting or scheming. I swear. I'm just letting you know that there is one thing that is guaranteed to keep my mouth shut. For good."

"What is it?" Peter asked, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

"You forgive me. Completely. We wipe the slate clean and we start again."

"You want us to…?"

"Get back together," Leanne nodded in confirmation with no hint of shame. "That's exactly what I want. I want you and Si to move back into the flat, for us to be a family again."

"You're insane! There's no way–"

"We were good together, Peter. More than good, we were amazing. And I know I've messed things up. More than once. I know I was in the wrong. I hold my hands up. But, if you forgive me, I will never ever let you down again."

"You've got some brass neck, you do."

"I've got no choice, it's the only way I can save my family."

"Our family is gone!" he cried. "You destroyed it."

"Think about Si," she pleaded with him. "He needs me. I need him. And I miss him. I miss both of you."

"He misses you too," Peter said, unable to deny the truth.

"What about you?" Leanne asked hopefully. "Do you miss me?"

"Of course I miss you," he replied in earnest. "You were everything to me."

"I can be again."

Taking what she knew was her only chance, Leanne leaned in close to Peter; reaching out her hand, she caressed his cheek softly and then, pressing her lips to his lips, she kissed him.

* * *

"When did you find out?" Carla asked, her head spinning with what Kylie had just told her.

"At the hen's night."

"Right. That's why you and her were holed up in the bogs for so long, was it? Gossiping about my fiancé's extra-curricular activities?"

"I was telling her to keep her gob shut."

"So… why are you telling me this now?"

"The way you were talking in the car, you know, how Nick was so reliable and honest. I realised then that you needed to know all the facts before you married him."

"But why leave it to the last minute?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Kylie explained. "I thought I was protecting your family."

"For future reference, lying to someone is not doing the right thing."

"What are you gonna do now?"

"You dump this on me minutes before I walk down the aisle and you expect me to know what to do?"

"I'm sorry."

"What am I gonna do, Kylie?"

"I don't know," Kylie shrugged, grasping for any kind of comfort she could give to Carla. "Talk to Nick?"

"And get lied to again? He's obviously been lying to me for weeks, months even. Are you sure about this? You couldn't have misunderstood? Maybe, I dunno, maybe Leanne was lying?"

"I asked David about it and he says it's true."

"David knows?"

"Yeah."

Carla stood thoughtful for a moment, her mind racing, that gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of her stomach growing stronger by the second. And then, having made up her mind, she made her move, striding towards the front door and flinging it open.

"Carla!" Kylie cried, running after her. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going to the Bistro."

"And then what?"

"I'm getting married, aren't I?"

* * *

"No." Peter shook his head, pulling away from Leanne. "No, no."

"Peter, I love you," Leanne murmured, pulling Peter's face back towards her own, kissing him again, but Peter evaded her, turning his face to the side.

"I can't, I'm sorry, no," his protests were meaningless to her as she placed her hands firmly, one on either side of his face. "Stop it, Lea."

"I can't… stop…" she pressed on, planting little kisses on his cheek and along his jawline. "I need… to make you… understand. You and me… we're meant to be… together. Stop fighting it, Peter."

"No!" he snapped, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away from his face. "We are done, Lea. We're done. You have to accept it."

"No," she shook her head. "Never."

"Once you betrayed me, that was hard enough to forgive. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me?"

"I do, I do, and you know how sorry I was."

"You weren't sorry, not really. Because, if you were, you wouldn't have done it again."

"But, Carla–"

"Carla! Carla! Carla!" Peter threw up his hands in despair. "You're obsessed with Carla."

"Me? You're the one who's obsessed with her. If you had really loved me and forgiven me like you said you had, you would have left her alone."

"There's nothing going on–" he cried, his frustration levels peaking. "Oh my god, I can't believe we're still having this argument. She's getting married…" he glanced at his clock on the wall… "…right now! But still you won't let the past go!"

"She's getting married."

"That's what I just said."

"Nah, that's not right," Leanne shook her head, speaking almost to herself now, as she lapsed into her own private phantasy. "She gets her happy ending while I get…"

"Leanne."

"I gave you a chance to save her," she rambled on.

"No, Lea–"

"But you were too damn selfish."

She stood up abruptly and, imitating Peter's action, looked at the clock.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, wary of her unpredictability.

"I'm gonna tell her," she looked him directly in the eye, her own flashing almost maniacally. "Right now. I'm gonna tell her everything."

"No."

Peter grabbed hold of Leanne's arms, blocking her exit from the room. But Leanne, seemingly possessed by her new mission, fought back against him, twisting her arms and her body as she tried to free herself. They grappled in near silence, the only sound a few short grunts as they wrestled for dominion over the other. It was Leanne who won the day. She wrested herself free from Peter and immediately struck out, slapping him hard across his cheek, before storming out of the office.

"Lea!" he called after her as he jogged to catch up with her. "Don't you dare–  
Oh!"

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the front door of the Bistro open and Carla stride into the foyer, Kylie bringing up the rear.

"Carla, I–" Leanne tried to engage Carla, but the bride pushed her aside.

Peter meanwhile was struck senseless as he gazed on Carla in all of her finery. She was dressed in a simple white dress, draped and folded across the front in a loose v-neck, the straps set wide on her shoulders before plunging low in the back, showing off her back that was, even at this stage in her pregnancy, smooth and toned. The unadorned fabric fitted her curves snugly before falling to the floor in a fanback style skirt with a short and simple train. Her hair was styled in soft waves with one side pulled back and fastened with a delicate seed pearl and crystal clip.

She truly was beautiful, he thought. Magnificent. But there was something about her in this moment that was more than mere beauty; she was beautiful, yes, but she was also dangerous. He dared not approach her for fear he would be burned up in the fire that was now raging within her.

As Carla stood, poised at the entrance to the dining room, Leanne once again made her move. But Kylie stepped in and manhandled her away, pushing her up against the wall and hissing, "You're too late. She knows everything."

"No," Peter shook his head in disbelief.

"You're lying," Leanne refused to believe it.

"Believe what you want," Kylie sneered before grabbing onto the front of Leanne's dress and shoving her in Peter's direction. "If you can't control her," she commanded him. "Take her outside."

With Peter holding Leanne back, Kylie tentatively approached Carla. "Babe," she whispered softly. "What are you gonna do?"

"I promised Nick I'd meet him at the end of that aisle."

"You're not going through with it?"

"I'm ready," Carla declared with great stoicism.

"What's she doing?" Peter asked as Kylie took her place behind Carla.

"Looks like she's marrying him."

At Carla's signal, the doors to the dining room opened and music began to play. She stepped into the room and paused at the top of the aisle until all eyes were on her; this was her moment. And then the man at the other end of the aisle turned around and, with a broad smile on his face, locked eyes with her.

Carla returned his smile with her lips only; her eyes burned and, as they focused with unremitting intensity on Nick's, caused his gaze to falter.

And then she began to walk, one foot in front of the other, she walked down the aisle to meet her fate, for better or worse.


	29. Week 29: For better or worse - Part II

**Week 29: For better or worse – Part II**

Nick's smile faltered and then failed as Carla's bridal march came to an end and she stood before him in front of the altar, her eyes fixed on his. It was not as if she herself was not smiling; her lips were stretched out into what would objectively be considered a smile, but the smile did not extend to her eyes. Her eyes spoke to him of something other than the happiness he had expected.

"Well..." she greeted him with a disarming confidence. "Isn't this where you tell me how good I look?"

"Y-you do," he stammered, his eyes flickering over her body from head to toe, although how much he took in on that first look was questionable. "You look amazing."

He wasn't lying; she was breath-taking, everything he'd dreamed of, more than he deserved. He knew that, he knew he didn't deserve her love, and so he made a silent vow to himself then and there that he would become a better man, he would become the man that truly deserved her.

"Shall we then?" she pressed on with a slightly raised eyebrow; a cheeky look, a challenging look, he wasn't sure. "Shall we get married?"

Pushing his initial misgivings firmly out of his mind now, Nick took Carla's hand in his and together they turned to face the celebrant, ready to become man and wife.

The opening remarks made by the celebrant, the welcome to their family and friends, the general statements on the sanctity of marriage, and the happiness of the occasion, they all swept over Nick; he couldn't recall them, not even the very moment after they were spoken.

And then, before he knew it, it was time to say his vows.

"Our love," he began with a timid smile. "Came as quite a surprise to me, to both of us..." A titter of laughter from the guests; they were all well aware of how the relationship began. "...but one thing I've learned along our journey together is that the dreams we create for ourselves in our minds will sometimes hold us back from receiving the unlooked-for gifts that life is ready to shower us with. Because, what began as something completely unexpected, has grown into something more beautiful and precious than I could have ever dreamed of. Knowing that, I promise to keep my heart open to the endless possibilities of our life together. I promise to love you with a stronger love than I imagined could exist. And I promise to try every day to give you the love and the life that is more than you dreamed of."

Carla stared at Nick in earnest; she saw that raw emotion in his eyes, those tears that were glistening in them, ready to flow, that spoke of the truth in his words. This was the moment, she reminded herself. This was her moment. But, as she opened her mouth to speak, her gaze flickered towards the gathered guests, the people who mattered to her the most, and she caught his eye. Simon. He was looking at her with an open heart, expecting nothing more from her than smiles and professions of love.

She turned resolutely away from his innocent eyes to face once again her fiancé, the man she knew she would not be marrying that day, the man she was now determined to publicly humiliate.

But she could not do it, for she could not shake Simon from her mind. She looked at him again and he at her. He grinned at her this time; it was like a sudden beam of light flashed across his face, and then his little hand he raised in the air to wave at her, his special sign of encouragement just for her.

"Carla?" Nick's plea forced her attention away from Simon and back to this man she had been planning, in the ferocious heat of her discovery of his infidelity, to destroy. As she looked again at him and, with the image of Simon firmly in her mind's eye, her resolve abandoned her completely.

"Nick," she whispered, her voice no more than a hoarse croak. "Can we talk? In private."

Without waiting for him to reply, she began to walk back down the aisle, giving Nick no other option but to hurry after her. He refused, however, to make eye contact with any of the guests, especially his family, despite seeing out of the corner of his eye, his mother rising from her chair, only to be pulled back down by Audrey.

"Don't!" Kylie hissed at David, holding him back from following his brother down the aisle.

"But–"

"She knows," she revealed in an urgent whisper. "She knows everything."

* * *

"Carla–" Peter reached out to Carla as she walked past where he was stood by the dining room door. But she brusquely brushed him off with a curt "Not now," and continued on her way, her head held high, her pride not allowing her to display any outward signs of weakness, not in front of all these people.

He continued to watch as Nick followed close behind his almost-bride, his jaw clenched, his mouth set and grim. But when Nick caught sight of Peter, when he saw the look of what he imagined to be pity on his face and the realisation dawned on him that Carla knew what he had done, he lost all self-control and, assuming the worst, set on Peter.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" Nick hissed as grabbed onto the lapel of Peter's suit jacket and shoved him up against the wall.

"Whoa!" Peter cried, trying to prise Nick's fingers off and loosen his grip. "Calm down, mate!"

"I'm not your mate. Why–" _Bang!_ went Peter as Nick slammed him again into the wall. "–couldn't you keep your damn mouth shut!"

"Hey!" Carla grabbed onto Nick's arm and pulled him away from Peter. "Not here," she commanded, nodding towards the guests who were all sat, their bodies twisted around in their seats, staring at them agog. "Come on!"

"Don't you dare," Peter hissed at Leanne as she made a move to follow the couple into the lobby.

"I have to," she shrugged. "I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Peter followed Leanne through the dining room door to where she was now brazenly inserting herself into what should have been a private moment.

"What the hell do you want?" Carla sneered. "Haven't you done enough damage?"

"I didn't tell her," Leanne ignored Carla and spoke directly to Nick, determined to plead her innocence to him. "I swear it wasn't me."

"Then it _was_ you?" Nick turned to Peter.

"It wasn't Peter," Carla corrected him. "No, he was quite happy to keep your dirty little secret. Don't worry, I'll be having words with him later."

"Carla, I'm–" Peter began.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Carla looked Peter in the eye, remembering all those times when Peter had lied to her, when he had known full well the disaster she was blindly walking into. But then, as she continued to look at him, another memory of him came to her mind. A sobering memory.

"I'm–" Peter caught himself in time. "I don't…"

"Listen, Carla, I–"

"Just leave me alone!" she cried, her pleading eyes flickering from Peter to Leanne and back again. "Both of you. What are you even doing here?"

"Why don't we go into the office?" Nick suggested.

"No, not here," Carla shook her head, her palm pressed up against her forehead as she struggled to order her thoughts. "I can't be here, I can't think straight. I need to get outta here."

* * *

Carla and Nick strolled side-by-side, the quiet waters of the canal gently lapping at the water-stained and moss-covered red-brick retaining wall on one side, while on the other side loomed the renovated and gentrified old warehouses. A heavy silence hung over the pair as they walked, ignorant to the curious looks they were receiving from those they passed, almost forgetting that they were still dressed in their wedding finery.

"Do you want me to say something?" Nick asked hesitantly, desperate to break the silence, but frightened of making a misstep. "To explain? Not that I can."

"Obviously you know that I know?"

"Considering you haven't lamped me yet, I'm not so sure you know everything."

"You, Leanne, the baby," Carla casually listed Nick's crimes as if reading aloud a shopping list. "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"So, go on… tell me."

"Tell you what?" Nick shrugged. "That I'm sorry? That I regret it? Because I am. I do. If I could go back and change things, I would, in a heartbeat."

"Tell me how it happened," Carla spoke her instruction with a controlled calmness.

"You want details?"

"Not those kind of details," she said, her face contorted into a grimace at the thought. "I just want to understand _how_."

"Okay," Nick took a deep breath and exhaled with a long sigh before continuing. "It was while you were visiting your mother."

"While she was dying, you mean?"

"With Peter."

"Peter," Carla laughed wryly at the mention of his name. "I thought he might come into it somehow."

"You don't understand what it was like," Nick tried his best to explain. "Leanne was out of her mind with worry. It was more than worry, she was completely paranoid, coming up with all sorts of crazy scenarios. She was convinced something was going on between you and him. And I guess, and I know I shouldn't have, I know that, but I got caught up in everything she was saying, and… well, you can guess the rest."

"You got caught up?"

"Yes."

"To be fair, Nick, it was a bit more than caught up. I mean, you had to take your clothes off for starters."

"Carla, don't."

"You had to go to bed, unless of course you couldn't wait and did it, where? Up against the bar? On the desk in your office?"

"Please, stop this," Nick pleaded with her.

"You had to do all sorts of things that are way beyond getting caught up. Getting caught up I can understand."

"You can?"

"You think I haven't got caught up before?"

"When?" Nick asked, suddenly suspicious.

"But you catch yourself before you go too far," Carla ignored Nick's question.

"When you say you've got caught up before…?" he pressed her.

"I kissed Peter."

"You what?"

"That same trip, when my mum died," she explained. "Not that I'm using that as an excuse. I'm not innocent, I'm not gonna try and make out that I'm innocent in all this. But I never slept with him."

"You were upset about your mum," Nick conceded. "I can understand that."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying–"

"You think if you forgive me, then I have to forgive you."

"That's not–"

"You slept with her!" Carla snapped, stopping in her tracks and shouting the words of condemnation at him, not caring who heard her or who stopped and stared at them. "You got her pregnant!"

"It might not have been mine."

"Do you think that makes a difference to me?" she cried incredulously. "Knowing it might have been yours is enough. And you knowing that I was carrying your baby… Your baby, Nick. That was never in doubt. Never. You knowing that should have been enough to stop you. But it wasn't."

"So… what now?"

"Tell me, what do you want?"

"I want us to get married," Nick declared. "Today."

"This is all such a mess," she bemoaned.

"It doesn't have to be. Carla, I love you."

"And I love you," Carla freely admitted. "But there's no trust anymore. There's not gonna be a wedding, Nick. Not today."

"Not today…? But maybe in the future?" Nick asked hopefully.

"I don't know. I need to… I need some space."

"Carla, we need to work through this together."

"No!" Carla snapped. "Just leave me be. Please, Nick. Give me some space so I can think."

"Okay," Nick nodded soberly. "Whatever you want, you've got it."

"Can I have…?" Carla asked, her voice barely a whisper, so fearful was she to even ask this of him.

"What is it?"

"Can I have a hug?" she sobbed, her defences crumbling around her.

"Oh, baby," Nick wrapped his arms around her and held her close, as both began to cry at the thought of what they were on the verge of losing.

* * *

Carla slumped down into her office chair, thankful that she always kept a spare set of 'just in case' clothes at the factory, and sat in silence, pondering what to do next. She didn't know why she had come here, to the empty factory. All she knew was that, in this place, she felt safe. In this place, she felt in control. With the rest of her life spinning completely out of control, being here was a comfort to her.

And then, just as coming here was an instinctive reaction, what she did next was also wholly instinctual in motivation.

"Hiya, Jennifer," she spoke with an enforced cheerfulness into the office phone. "It's Carla Connor … The weekend? Hmmpf! No rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say? … That's right … So, those fabric samples, when can I expect them? … Hmm… Tuesday'd work better for me … You can? That's fantastic … Alright then … you too … turrah."

Carla was halfway through dialling the next number on her list of people to harass, when she heard the tell-tale sound of the factory door creak open and soft footsteps echo across the empty sewing room floor.

"I said I needed some space!" Carla called out to the as yet unseen visitor, assuming that it was Nick.

"Does that include from me?" Kylie asked as she poked her head around the office door.

"No, you're alright," Carla smiled when she saw Kylie's face. "Come in."

"How're you feeling?" Kylie asked, entering the office and sitting down opposite her boss and friend.

"Next."

"Okay, umm… Have you and Nick…?"

"Broken up? No, not yet."

"What does 'not yet' mean?"

"It means I don't know, I haven't decided," Carla shrugged. "I'm sorry I left you to take care of everything at the Bistro."

"It's okay."

"So, everyone…?"

"Gone home," Kylie confirmed. "After a million questions I had no idea how to answer."

"Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm not having a go or nothin'. Although, I'd try and avoid being cornered by Gail right at the moment, she'll not let up until she's ferreted out the truth."

"The truth about what her precious Nicky has been up to? I'm not sure she can cope with that level of truth."

"Ain't that the truth," Kylie said with a roll of her eyes. "So… Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Besides not tell Gail where I am?"

"Besides that, yeah."

"Nothing," Carla shook her head and forced herself to smile. "Really, I just need some time on me own."

"As long as you're okay."

"I am."

"Okay," Kylie relented. "Just… don't work too hard, please."

"Think of the baby? Is that what you were gonna say?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I promise not to work too hard. Happy?"

"For now," Kylie said, rising from her chair and dropping an affectionate kiss on Carla's cheek before making her exit. "Call me if you need me, yeah?"

"I will."

Left alone once more, Carla leaned back in her chair and remembered Kylie's pleas; don't work too hard, think of the baby. Placing her hand on her bump, she whispered, "Hey there, precious boy. What do you think mummy should do?" She smiled as she rubbed her belly fondly. "Me too, bud, I have no flaming idea."

* * *

Carla rummaged in her dainty beaded clutch bag that she'd bought especially for the wedding and pulled out her front door key. She was looking forward to getting inside, having a relaxing bath, a glass of… a cup of tea, and then snuggle up in bed and try to forget about the disaster that was her and Nick's wedding day.

But then she heard it, not one but two familiar voices, and her heart sank.

"Well, I think it's plain rude of Carla to disappear like that without a word," came Gail's muffled condemnation through the solid barrier of her front door.

"Mum!" Nick hastened to chastise his mother. "Carla's done nothing wrong, it was me what messed everything up."

"She could at least have stuck around to talk things through with you. She owes you that much."

"She said she needed some space, so that's what I'm giving her."

"Space? Huh! I call that selfish."

Carla had heard enough; as quietly as she could, she placed the key back into her bag and tiptoed away from the door, anxious that mother and son should never know that she had been there.

* * *

"I heard," Norris said as he leaned forward over the counter of The Kabin, his face a picture of gleeful anticipation, always eager for a juicy piece of gossip. "There was a bit of a to-do this afternoon at the wedding of the year. Hmm?"

"Leave the man alone, Norris," Rita berated her business partner. "Ignore him," she advised Peter. "He's just bitter he never got an invite. I said to him, why would you? I mean, since when has he hob-nobbed with the likes of Nick Tilsley or Carla Connor?"

"Don't worry, Rita," Peter reassured her. "I learned long ago to ignore, ooh, ninety-nine percent of what came out of your man here's mouth."

"I say!" Norris exclaimed in protest.

"You do well," Rita smiled her approval, handing over his fresh packet of cigarettes, along with his change. "There you go, love."

"Thanks."

"I don't suppose…" Rita couldn't resist. "I mean, I hope everyone concerned is alright? The baby?"

"Everyone's just fine, thanks, Rita," Peter firmly cut off both of their fishing expeditions by turning his back on them and making a beeline for the door. As he stepped onto the street, his fingers already battling with the fiddly plastic wrapping of the box of cigarettes, he spotted a familiar figure. Intrigued, he shoved the still-unopened packet into his pocket and followed her at a safe distance, wondering why she was going into the Bistro, now when it was all over and done with and everyone had gone home.

"Hey," he greeted her simply as he opened the dining room doors and stepped inside, wishing he could have offered her more comfort than that one ineffectual word.

"What are you doing here?" Carla asked, surprised to see him.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I went home but Nick was there with Gail–"

"Don't say another word, I understand completely."

"I didn't have anything to say to him, nothing new anyway, no decision, and I couldn't handle the thought of being interrogated by Gail, so…"

"You came back to the scene of the crime?"

"So to speak, yeah."

"Do you want me to go round to yours?" Peter asked with a cheeky grin. "Kick him out?"

"No. I'll be fine a bit later," Carla assured him. "When Gail's gone I can face him."

"Are you okay?"

"I honestly don't know," she shrugged. "I think I'm still waiting for it to fully hit me, you know? But all this," she looked around the room, still decorated, still waiting for the wedding that would never happen, and shook her head sadly. "It's all such a waste."

"Better to waste one day than waste your whole life."

"And to think, it all could've been avoided."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Kylie knew. She found out at the hen's night."

"Actually, Carla, I–"

"If only she would've told me straight away," she lamented. "Or even yesterday, this morning even."

"I guess," Peter shrugged, unconvinced.

"What? You think she was right to keep it from me?"

"Well, no, I dunno…" he grasped for an explanation. "Maybe she was trying to protect you?"

"Is that what you were doing?"

"What?"

"Come on, Peter. I'm not stupid. I know you knew. Why else would you and Leanne have split up?"

"I'm sorry," came Peter's feeble apology.

"I don't blame you. I mean, you were the other injured party, that's what they say, innit?"

"Yeah, I was."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" he asked in surprise.

"For what you must've gone through," she explained. "For the pain they caused you. How are you coping anyway?"

"Can we please talk about summat else?"

"Okay, umm…" Carla racked her brain for a new topic of conversation. "What's the time?"

"Ahhh…" Peter looked at his watch. "Just gone eight. Why?"

"Eight p-m," Carla mused on the time. "That would've been the time when we were scheduled to cut the cake."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nick, he had everything timed down to the last second."

"He didn't?" Peter laughed. "What a plonker."

"I shoulda taken that as a sign, ey?"

"So… what was next?"

"Next?"

"After the cake."

"Oh, right. Umm… that would've been our first dance."

"Did you take lessons?"

"No. Nick wanted us to but I never quite found the time."

"I bet you didn't," Peter laughed.

"I was just planning on jiggling around a bit."

"Show me," Peter demanded.

"What?"

"Well, it'd be a pity if you missed your first dance."

"You can't have a first dance without a husband."

"But you can have one with a friend, can't you?"

"Do you mean you?"

"I'll have you know, I was quite the mover and shaker back in the day," he said with an exaggerated shake of his hips. "I know my way around a dancefloor."

"Well… what about music?"

"I'll sing as well as dance," he suggested, his eyebrow raised suggestively, causing Carla to burst into laughter.

"Maybe we can, I dunno, imagine the music?"

"Feel the beat," he said as he held out his hand to her, an invitation to dance. The moment she placed her hand in his, he gripped it firmly and pulled her in towards him.

"Oh!" she gasped as her bump banged into his body. "Hope you don't mind dancing with an elephant."

"Hush," he whispered to her as he wrapped his left arm around her waist, the right holding her left hand firmly but oh-so gently in his warm grip. "You're a picture of grace, like a gazelle, innit?"

Carla gave herself over to Peter's lead as he guided her around the makeshift dancefloor, moving in time to a silent rhythm. There was no need for words between the pair, she could feel his comfort in his presence, in his touch. And he knew instinctively that words would only cause her more distress, and so he simply held her close as they swayed and spun together. And when she lay her cheek on his shoulder only for him to feel the tell-tale wetness of her tears through his shirt, he still kept his silence, but his arms held her just that little bit tighter.


	30. Week 30: Honeymooners

**Week 30: Honeymooners**

Carla squinted in the intense sunlight that was beating down upon her and felt blindly for her phone, beeping somewhere by her side, until her hand happened upon it and she drew it to her, a technological safety blanket in this unfamiliar setting.

"Ugh," she moaned as she opened her eyes and read the newly received message.

_Where are you?_

"Who's that?" Kylie asked lazily as she stretched out, adjusting her body to catch the sun in all the right spots, wanting nothing more from the day than to obtain an all-over even tan.

"Nick," Carla answered in clipped tones. "He wants to know where I am."

"You still haven't told him?"

"It's none of his business where I choose to go," Carla declared haughtily. "Thanks, by the way," she added in a softer tone. "For coming with me."

"You're kidding me, right?" Kylie laughed. "Seven nights in a luxury resort in the Maldives with me best mate? As if I was gonna turn that down."

"I guess when you put it like that."

"So, are you gonna put him out of his misery?"

"Since he paid for the trip…" Carla burst into laughter at the thought, with Kylie happily joining in on the joke.

Not to be distracted from the task at hand, Carla quickly typed out a reply...

_I'm on our honeymoon_

…adding for optimum effect…

_With Kylie_

...before sending the message and then placing the phone face down on the small drinks table that was positioned within easy reaching distance next to her sun lounger. And then, determined to enjoy her day, she waved to the drinks waiter who was loitering nearby, on the lookout for any hotel guest that needed his attention.

"Madam," he greeted her with a smile as he approached the pair. "What can I get you?"

"Kylie?"

"Ahhh... strawberry daiquiri, ta. Make it a large one."

"And I'll have another one of those surprise virgin mocktails that the barman's been making me. What was in that last one? I could taste the passion fruit, but there was something else..."

"That would have been the lychee, madam. Did you like it?"

"It was delicious."

Their drinks order placed, Carla gazed lazily out over the sparkling waters of the resort's swimming pool and beyond to the crystal-clear turquoise of the Indian Ocean and felt at peace for the first time in what seemed like forever. She did, that is, until she heard the beep of her phone as another new message was received. With a deep sigh, she lay back on the sun lounger and closed her eyes, resolutely ignoring the phone as it continued to beep.

* * *

"Carla," Kylie gently nudged Carla's shoulder. "Carla."

"Mmm..." Carla moaned softly as she slowly opened her eyes. "I think I drifted off for a minute," she murmured as she stared up at Kylie, blinking as she tried to focus her gaze, her mind still in that blissful state of half-sleep, half-wakefulness.

"No kidding," Kylie chuckled. "You've been sparko for a good hour."

"Why did you wake me?"

"You're starting to burn," Kylie nodded to Carla's legs and belly that were starting to turn from a healthy shade of tan to an angry reddish hue. "Don't wanna bake junior now, do ya?"

"Ta," Carla said, reaching for the sunscreen and lathering it over her body.

"Your phones been buzzing non-stop," Kylie informed her. "Somehow I don't think Nick's too pleased with our little getaway."

"As if I care what he thinks," Carla stated, wholly unconcerned. Nonetheless, she reached for her phone and began to read the messages.

"Well?" Kylie asked impatiently. "What's he got to say for himself?"

With a sigh, Carla now read Nick's messages aloud to her almost sister-in-law.

"_Why didn't you tell me?  
__I would've come with you  
__We could've talked  
__Carla?  
__Can I call you?  
__Stop ignoring me  
__I miss you  
__I love you"_

"Pity he didn't remember he loved you when he was banging that Battersby cow," Kylie sneered, adding a quick "sorry" when she caught the look on Carla's face.

"Talking of that Battersby cow, as you so bluntly put it."

"She hasn't?" Kylie gasped.

"She has," Carla nodded, before reading the message from Leanne. "_Can we talk? I'd like to explain what happened_."

"The cheek of her," Kylie cried, watching Carla intently as she continued to stare at the phone's screen. "What are you gonna say? Carla?"

"I dunno," Carla shook her head. "Nothing?"

"Nothing? You just gonna ignore her?"

"No," Carla smiled with satisfaction at her solution. "I'm gonna do more than ignore her, I'm gonna block her as well."

"Nice," Kylie nodded her approval.

"Gail's left a voice message," Carla noted as she continued to scroll through her messages.

"Ugh," Kylie moaned. "What does she want?"

"Let's have a listen."

"Carla, it's Gail," the simpering voice of the Platt matriarch emanated from the phone's speaker. "I don't want to interfere–" a snort of derision from Kylie "–but I can't stand seeing my son so upset. He made a mistake. I know that, he knows that. He really does. And he regrets it. Please, please, Carla, give him another chance. Think of that beautiful baby boy of yours. He's going to need his daddy. Don't deny your son his father. Please, Carla."

"Nothing unexpected," Carla shrugged. "All about how Nick feels, what Nick wants. She never could stand any criticism of her golden boy. Everything he does is perfect in her eyes."

"Are you gonna call her back?"

"Am I?" Carla laughed. "What do you think?"

"Is that it then? No more messages?"

"There's a voice message from Nick."

"Well?"

"It can wait."

* * *

Carla submerged her body into the cool water of the resort's pool with a little gasp, counting down the seconds until she acclimatised to the temperature change. And then, when she did, she relaxed onto her back with a contented sigh and floated out into the middle of the pool, luxuriating in the feel of the water gently lapping against her limbs, and against her torso, her bump rising up like an island in the middle of the ocean, while her hair streamed out from her head underneath the water.

"Ahhh!" Kylie squealed as she repeated Carla's ritual, before pushing out from the side of the pool with a strong breast stroke towards where Carla was floating.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Carla asked as Kylie approached, swinging her body upright and beating her legs gently as she treaded water.

"Oh, gosh," Kylie baulked before agreeing with a nervous smile. "I guess so."

"What was it like being a single mum? When Max was a baby."

"Honestly?"

"Please."

"It was hard," she admitted candidly. "It was too hard for me, at the time. I did the best I could but it wasn't good enough. Nowhere near. And when they took him away…"

"Yes?"

"It nearly killed me. Not just cause he was gone, but the way they were judging me, looking at me, making out I was some sort of failure as a mother. It was brutal."

"I couldn't do it," Carla confessed. "I couldn't be a single mum."

"You can do anything, babe," Kylie reassured her. "You are the strongest person I know."

"I'm not. Not really. It's all a front. And when it comes to something so alien like raising this one," she rubbed her belly fondly. "I know I can't do it without Nick."

"Is that why you haven't dumped him yet?"

"It's not that simple," Carla contended. "It's hard to let go, ya know, that idea of being married, of us being a family. Because the alternative… frankly, the alternative terrifies me."

"If you do end up being a single mum, you've got nothing to worry about," Kylie insisted. "Trust me on that. You ain't like me, Carla. We're like night and day. Seriously, babe, you didn't know me back then. I was a complete and utter mess. I didn't have nowhere to live, no job, no family, I was constantly thieving, boozing it up every chance I could. And worse. You are not like that. And it's not like you're gonna be on your own, not really. Nick will always be there for you and laddo. He's not a waster like Max's dad was. You've got a nice home, a job, friends. You'll be fine."

"The thing is…"

"What is it?"

"I'm scared."

"Oh, babe, come here."

Kylie paddled close to Carla and wrapped her arms around her, kissing her softly on the cheek.

"It's okay to be scared," she whispered comfortingly. "I know I was bricking it. And it's okay to mess up. I did plenty of that as well. It's not about messing up, cause we all do it, it's about what you do next."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Carla lamented. "What to do next."

Kylie pulled away from Carla and, looking her straight in the eye, repeated back her earlier request. "Can I ask _you_ a personal question?"

"Sure."

"When you found out Paul had cheated on you, what did you do?"

"Dumped him," Carla admitted, straight to the point. "Told him I was gonna divorce him and take him for everything he had."

"That sounds like something the Carla I know would do," Kylie said. "Which makes me wonder… Why are you giving Nick a free pass?"

"Because..." Carla faltered, unsure of how to answer, unsure if she knew the answer.

"Because of the baby. That's what you were gonna say, right?"

Carla merely shrugged her answer, she wasn't ready to admit it out loud, not yet.

"That kid is not gonna thank you for staying in a broken relationship for his sake."

"It's not a broken relationship."

"Are you sure about that?"

"You don't understand, Kylie," Carla pleaded with her. "I don't wanna do it on my own."

"You won't be on your own."

* * *

"Oh, that felt so good," Carla murmured as she stepped out of the pool, the water streaming off her body, and wandered back to her sun lounger, Kylie following closely behind. "What d'ya reckon, we order food here? I don't fancy getting dressed and going to the restaurant."

"Works for me, I'll grab us some menus."

Carla wrapped her towel around her and plonked herself down, rather ungracefully she thought, thanks to the size of her bump, and reached for her phone. One new message. For a moment, her heart sunk, and she started to brace herself for more accusations and recriminations from Nick. Until she saw his name. And then a smile spread across her face and she eagerly opened the message.

_How are you doing? Haven't seen you round for a few days_

Carla immediately texted back.

_Had to get away. Took Kylie on honeymoon_

_Congratulations. I hope you'll be very happy together_

_Haha!_

_Where'd you go?_

_Maldives  
__Currently lazing by the pool_

_Jealous!_

Kylie sauntered towards the pair of sun loungers that her and Carla were occupying for the day, a couple of menus in her hand, when she caught sight of Carla furiously texting, her entire focus on the phone in her hands. She stood still for a moment and watched her, curious to witness the obvious changes in her friend's countenance.

"I take it that's not Nick you're texting?" she rightly observed when she finally approached Carla, handing over one of the menus she was carrying.

"No, thank goodness."

"Well, whoever it is, that's who you should be marrying."

"What?" Carla stared up at Kylie with a mixture of shock and confusion, silently cursing the heat she could feel in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the strength of the tropical sun.

"Because, just then, while I was watching you text this mysterious person, it was the first time I've seen you smile, like properly smile like you're properly happy in... honestly, forever. Even before the wedding that never was."

"Really?" Carla muttered, almost to herself, pondering the truth behind Kylie's words.

"So..." Kylie pressed her. "Who was it?"

"It was no one," Carla instinctively deflected Kylie's question.

"Liar!" Kylie accused her, a smile twitching on her lips. "Well? I'm not gonna let up, so you may as well tell me."

"Fine," Carla rolled her eyes with mock umbrage. "It was Peter."

"Peter Barlow?" Kylie couldn't help but grin. "Hmm... I guess he does have a certain brooding quality about him. Cute kid as well. You'll make a nice little family, the four of ya."

"Kylie!" Carla protested. "Stop it! Peter's a mate."

"Look," Kylie pointed at her gleefully. "You're doing it again."

"What am I doing?"

"Smiling like... like you're in luuurrve."

"I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"You are so in denial."

"Shut up!" Carla cried in exasperation. "I can't be in love with Peter. Technically, I'm still engaged to Nick."

"Technically," Kylie scoffed. "Says it all, don't it?"

"Whatever."

Carla pointedly ignored Kylie's teasing and returned her focus to her phone and her ongoing text conversation with Peter. But, as her fingers hovered over the letters, she wondered about Kylie's words. If Kylie could see it, she thought, even when he's thousands of miles away, maybe… just maybe…

"Thanks," Carla spoke unexpectedly.

"For what?" Kylie looked up from the menu she was perusing and stared at her in confusion.

"I dunno if it was something you said, or if it's just being here, away from everything, perspective, ya know, but…"

"What?"

"I feel like something's lifted. I feel lighter somehow."

"You've made a decision, haven't you?"

"I have."


	31. Week 31: Moment of truth

_It seems like just the other day that we started this '40 Weeks' journey on that fateful Valentine's Day evening when Carla bumped into Nick at a downtown bar, and now here we are on the home stretch with the final quarter of chapters._

_I'd like to take his opportunity to thank everyone who has stuck with this story and especially to those of you who have left such kind reviews. I am grateful for every single one of them. I hope you continue to enjoy Carla's journey as her pregnancy reaches full term; there's certainly plenty of drama to come._

_A little bit of housekeeping before we embark on the latest instalment... I'll be sticking with Sunday as the publishing day for the remaining chapters as I've recently started a new job and so don't have much spare time during the week to dedicate to writing. Thank you for your understanding._

* * *

**Week 31: Moment of truth**

"I'm not sure," Nick said with a forced smile as he slid into the chair opposite Carla and glanced nervously about Roy's Rolls that was bustling with customers in the mid-morning rush. "If I should be reading anything into your choice of meeting place."

"What d'ya mean?" Carla asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh, I dunno," Nick shrugged. "Did she ask me somewhere public so she could dump me without fear of me causing a scene? Or did she just fancy a fry up with her fiancé. The latter, if you're interested, that's the one I'm hoping for."

"Nick–"

"Carla, please," Nick pleaded with her, fearful of what was coming. "I've been going out of my mind."

Carla didn't reply, not with words, but with action. One action, so unambiguous, that Nick was left with no doubt as to her intentions. Tugging her engagement ring from her finger, she slid it across the smooth white surface of the table towards Nick, muttering a futile "sorry" as she pulled her hand away, leaving the physical symbol of their relationship abandoned on the cold, clinical surface.

"Don't make any hasty decisions," Nick urged her, pushing the ring back towards her. "Let's at least talk first."

"There's no point, Nick," Carla said, placing her hand, gentle in touch but firm in intent, onto his. "I've made up my mind."

Nick stared at Carla, he saw the look in her eyes and the sympathetic smile on her face; it was a look filled with pity, he imagined bitterly, pity for the fool he was.

"You really mean it, don't you?" he asked, all hope fading from his heart.

"Why do you say that?"

"There's, umm... I dunno, there's something different about you."

"You know when you've made a decision and you have complete peace, in here," Carla tapped her abdomen lightly, "about it. You don't even have to think about it anymore, you just know."

"I can't believe you're throwing everything we've got away because of a feeling," Nick sniffed, his head shaking from side to side.

"Come on, Nick. You know it wasn't right. You know that we were trying that little bit harder to make it work because… well, because of our son. Pushing out all of those little niggling doubts for his sake."

"Did you...?" Nick faltered, unable to ask the question, unable to face the potential answer.

"What?"

"Did you feel nothing for me all this time?"

"No!" Carla cried. "Oh, Nick, no. I loved you. I will always love you. Because you are my son's father. But that doesn't mean I want to be married to you. And, if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that I am not your first choice for a wife."

"You can't get over the Leanne thing, is that it?"

"No, Nick," Carla shook her head sadly. "It's you that can't get over the Leanne thing."

* * *

Carla and Nick stood awkwardly on the pavement outside Roy's Rolls, neither with any idea of how to say goodbye.

"I still don't think we'd be the disaster you're imagining," Nick offered up his last-ditch effort to salvage something from their relationship.

"I never said we'd be a disaster. Could we have been happy?" Carla shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I think we could've been happy in our own way. It's not enough though, is it? Not when we both know we'd be happier with other people."

"So, that's it then?"

"You're acting like we're never gonna see each other again."

"That's what it feels like," he lamented.

"We're gonna be parents, Nick," Carla reassured him. "A mum and dad to a little boy, our little boy, and, whether you like it or not, we're all gonna be in each other's lives for... well, forever."

"I guess you're right."

"See, you can't get rid of me that easy."

"Good," Nick smiled and, extending his arms outwards, invited her in for a hug.

"This is the right thing, Nick," Carla whispered as she clung onto him, holding him close, for the last time. "You'll see that one day."

"I'll talk to you later, yeah?" Nick asked hopefully as Carla gently disentangled herself from his embrace.

"Of course," Carla smiled up at him. "I better get back to the factory, make sure it hasn't fallen apart while I've been away."

"Bye," Nick breathed, watching on sadly as Carla walked away from him, down Rosamund Street and back to the factory, back to a life that he was now shut out from. With a sigh, he turned away and began his lonely walk down Viaduct Street. At least he still had the Bistro, he consoled himself, something that would keep him busy and distracted from his loss.

Carla glanced at the bookies as she walked past, never able to resist an opportunity to catch sight of Peter going about his daily business. But today it was not Peter that she saw, it was Leanne who, oblivious to Carla as she walked nearby, had eyes for Nick only. They remained fixed on his figure as he retreated down Viaduct Street and then, before he could completely disappear from her view, she followed him, first walking and then jogging to catch up with him.

For a moment, Carla's anger began to rise and she was on the verge of following her, of confronting her, when she remembered that she was free of those worries now, it was none of her concern. With a smile, she hastened her steps away from the past and on towards her future.

* * *

Carla peered through the slatted blinds of her office window and onto the sewing floor. She knew the gossips would be salivating over the state of her and Nick's relationship, she had reconciled herself to that, but to see it in person, to know that she was paying her staff good money while they whispered about her private life, was too much for her to bear.

Jumping to her feet, Carla stormed out of the office and confronted them with a sharp "Alright! I've had enough of this incessant buzzing, you're like a swarm of… mosquitoes. So, to set the record straight once and for all, yes, me and Nick have split up. And no, it's none of your business why. If I hear another word about it within these walls–"

"You'll be down the job centre so fast your feet won't touch the ground," Sean finished Carla's well-known threat with his characteristic flourish.

"Yes, thank you, Sean," Carla said as she glared at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Connor," chorused the workers in a dull sing-song tone.

"Good. Now, get on with your work."

Carla turned on her heel, wanting nothing more than to hide away in her office, but instead caught sight of the one person she did not want to talk to walking in the front door.

"Not now, Gail," she rebuffed her almost mother-in-law before the elder Platt could open her mouth to speak and instead stalked towards her office.

"Can I talk to you, Carla?" Gail asked, not easily dissuaded from what was to her a task of the utmost urgency.

"I don't have time," Carla barked, entering her office and slamming the door shut in Gail's face.

Undeterred by Carla's open hostility, Gail opened the office door and let herself in.

"Gail, I–"

"No, Carla, before you start, I need you to understand. Nick made a mistake, please don't punish yourself or your son–"

"Enough!" Carla cried, a dangerous edge to her voice. "No offence, Gail–"

"In my experience," Gail observed wryly. "When someone starts a sentence with 'no offence', they fully intend to give the maximum amount of offence they possibly can."

"You want straight talk, do you?"

"I would appreciate it, yes."

"Okay, then. You asked for it." Carla took a deep breath and, with a wicked glint in her eyes, unleashed on Gail everything she'd been biting her tongue over for months now. "One of the advantages of not being in a relationship with Nick any longer, is not having to put up with your frankly creepy obsession with every single move he makes. He's a grown man, Gail. Time to cut those apron strings."

* * *

Carla gasped as she burst out of the factory doors and into the crisp and refreshing air outside. She'd sat alone in her office long after Gail had retreated from their confrontation with that infuriating expression on her face that perfectly combined confusion and innocence, an expression that had made Carla feel as if she'd just kicked a puppy. She had let it fester within her until her insides were wound up so tight that she had to get away, away from the sideways glances, away from the factory, away from everything. She needed to be alone.

And so she walked, without any sense of direction or knowledge of where she was going. She just was. And, for that moment, that was enough for her, that was enough to give her that feeling of freedom from the everyday constraints of her life, a feeling that she had been so desperate for.

Until she spotted Leanne walking towards her.

"Oh, god," she muttered under her breath, her steps faltering for a split-second before her pride forced her to carry on, placing one foot in front of the other with as much swagger as she could muster, and raising her chin in the air that little bit higher.

"Didn't take you long to get bored," Leanne snarled as they passed each other by.

"Excuse me?" Carla stopped and spun around to face Leanne.

"Did you ever love him or was it all some grand plan, some kind of sick revenge for Peter choosing me over you?"

"You have no idea what's gone on between me and Nick," Carla said with a dangerous sort of calm, walking towards Leanne with slow deliberate steps. "Except of course when you tried to come between us."

"Listen, Carla–"

"But that didn't turn out how you planned it, did it now?" Carla sneered. "I mean, how could he want you when he was begging me for another chance, ooh, only a few hours ago."

"You're a vindictive cow," Leanne spat her venom. "I pity Nick, being stuck with you for the rest of his life. He couldn't have chosen a worse mother for his kid if he tried."

* * *

"So, apart from playing football on your lunch," Peter said, glancing down at Simon as they walked along the street, hand-in-hand. "What else did you get up to at school?"

"I dunno," Simon shrugged.

"Did you learn anything?"

"Not really."

"You learned nothing in a whole day at school?"

"We had show and tell."

"Oh, right," Peter nodded, happy to latch onto anything positive Simon had to say about school. "And what did you bring?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's right. Nothing."

"But why?"

"I dunno," Simon shrugged yet again. "Forgot?"

"If you tell me these things beforehand, I can help you."

"Morgan brought in his new puppy," Simon continued, ignoring his dad's chiding. "It was all soft and wriggly. I got to hold it."

"Did you now?"

"Can we get a puppy, dad?" Simon asked, gazing up at Peter with pleading eyes.

"Oh, mate," Peter baulked at the request. "I don't think a dog will like living in our little flat."

"But we're not living at the flat anymore," Simon protested. "Are we moving back? With mum?"

"No, son, we're not," Peter dashed Simon's hopes. "I mean, we are, just not…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Dad!" Simon cried out in frustration. "Are we moving back or not?"

"Hold up," Peter stopped in his tracks and stared at the two women in the distance, obviously embroiled in a heated exchange. "What's going on here?"

"It's mum and Carla!" Simon cried, pulling on Peter's hand as he tried to run to the pair. "Dad!"

"Stay here," Peter ordered Simon, letting go of his hand and walking towards the action without a second thought.

"Dad!"

"Do not move a muscle," Peter called over his shoulder as he broke into a jog. "Hey!" he called out, to little effect as Leanne, her face twisted into a scowl, made her move with such speed that Carla had little time to react and could merely stagger back as Leanne's hand came into sharp contact with her cheek. "Whoa!"

Carla didn't let Leanne's attack go unpunished; she shoved her opponent hard, squaring up to her, inviting her in for another shot.

"Come on," Carla sneered. "If you think you can take me."

"Break it up!" Peter yelled, running up and forcing himself physically between the pair. "Oi!"

"No!" Carla protested, pushing Peter away. "She doesn't scare me."

"I'll smash your smug face in, you–"

"Lea! Stop it!" Peter cried. "For god's sake, she's pregnant!"

"Pregnant or not, she deserved that slap."

"What? For having something that you so desperately want?" Carla taunted her. "But you can't get it, can you?"

"You bitch!"

Peter caught Leanne just in time as she launched herself at Carla, clawing at the air, her target just beyond her reach thanks to Peter's tight hold on her.

"Geroff me! Peter!"

"Not in front of Si," Peter pleaded with her.

"Si?" Leanne asked, immediately calming down at the mention of his name. "Where's Si?"

"He's just over…" Peter looked towards the footpath he had left his son standing on. "He was… oh, god."

"Peter?" Leanne asked, suddenly fearful. "What's going on?"

"Si!" Peter called out, completely forgetting the catfight and running towards where Simon should have been standing. "Simon!"

"Simon!" Leanne cried, running after Peter. "Peter?"

"He was right here," Peter said, spinning around on the spot, his eyes darting here and there, desperate for any sign of his son. "I left him here. I told him not to move."

"Where is he?" Leanne sobbed. "Where is he, Peter?"

"I don't know," Peter shook his head and stared into Leanne's eyes, the fear in their deep brown depths clear for her to see. "He's gone."


	32. Week 32: Missing

**Week 32: Missing**

"Peter?" Carla called out as she jogged towards where Peter was standing, indecisive, unsure of what to do for the best. "What's wrong?"

"Simon," he gasped, his head shaking from side-to-side as if the mere action would deny the reality of what was happening. "He's missing."

"Missing? But–"

"Why did you take your eyes off him?" Leanne cried, unfairly rounding on Peter in her panic. "You were meant to be looking after him."

"This is not my fault!" Peter shouted in retaliation. "If it's anyone's fault it's yours, fighting in the street like a pair of alley cats."

"Don't you dare turn this around on me."

"Why not? You're the reason I left him on his own in the first place!"

"Hey! Stop it!" Carla cried in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "This is not helping."

"You keep out of it," Leanne sneered at her. "It's nowt to do with you."

"Can you just drop the attitude for one minute, Leanne, and focus on finding Simon?"

"She's right," Peter admitted.

"You would take her side," Leanne folded her arms across her chest and screwed up her nose.

"Leanne!" Carla cried. "Simon. Focus on Simon."

"Sorry."

"Thank you," Carla sighed in exasperation. "Now, why don't we split up and check all the places that Simon might've gone."

"I'll check the flat," Leanne eagerly jumped on the idea.

"And I'll…" Peter stared at Carla, desperate for a cue.

"Your dad's?"

"Yes, I'll check me dad's," Peter nodded, restless to finally take action. "Call me if you find him!" he yelled after Leanne's retreating figure, already hurrying to complete her mission, before turning to face Carla, appealing to her for guidance.

"Your dad's," she prompted him gently, leading the way.

"Dad's," he nodded, at first matching Carla's steps and then outpacing her, his desperation to find his son was so great.

"Peter!" Carla called out in vain, her breathing laboured as she tried to keep up. Indeed, he was so far ahead of her, that he was already entering his father's house and bounding up the stairs by the time she arrived on the doorstep.

"Mrs Connor!"

Carla turned to see Hayley Cropper shuffling over the cobbles towards her.

"What is it, Hayley?"

"I hope you don't mind," Hayley said. "But I've taken the liberty of locking up the factory for the day."

"Is it that time already?"

"I'm sorry if–"

"No, Hayley, you did the right thing. Can I have your keys? I left mine in me office."

"Of course," Hayley nodded, handing over the keys as requested. "I'll best be off home, Roy will want his dinner before his bat society meeting."

"His what?"

"The bat society," Hayley began to explain. "It's–"

"Never mind," Carla waved away the eccentricities of Roy Cropper's nocturnal hobby. "Have a good night. Oh, Hayley, before you go."

"Yes, Mrs Connor?"

"You haven't seen Simon on your travels, have you?"

"Simon? Little Simon Barlow?"

"Yes."

"No, I'm sorry, I haven't. There's nothing wrong is there?"

"He's probably just wandered off, I'm sure he'll be fine. If you can just–"

"I'll keep an eye out for him."

"Thanks, Hayley."

With Hayley safely on her way home, Carla peeked inside the open door of number 1, wondering whether it would be presumptuous of her to enter without an invitation, when Peter himself came bounding out.

"He's not here," he declared.

"Maybe… it's time to call the police?" Carla suggested.

"Why?" Peter stared at her, aghast, as his mind went into overdrive at the possibilities. "Do you think he's been kidnapped or summat?"

"I'm sure he hasn't, but–"

"No, no," Peter shook his head. "I'm gonna keep looking. You do what you want."

"I'm coming with you."

"Really?"

"Of course," Carla ran her hand lightly down his arm, a comforting gesture, and grabbed onto his hand. "We'll find him together."

* * *

"Simon!" Leanne called for her son as she bounded into the living room of her flat. "Si!"

Frantic, she searched the flat, looking in every room, behind every piece of furniture, in every nook and cranny she thought could possibly or even impossibly hide a child.

"Oh, Si," she sobbed as she gave up her search and stood, momentarily adrift in the middle of the living room floor. "Where are you?"

Hurrying down the stairs, she burst out onto the street and began to walk, peering down alleys and doorways as she passed and calling out Simon's name. But there was no reply, no excited cry of 'Mum!' to greet her, no mop of dark curly hair bobbing along as he ran into her arms; there was nothing at all.

* * *

Nick pinned the updated menu to the board hanging on the front wall of the Bistro and locked the glass box that protected it from the elements. He placed his hand on the door handle, ready to head back inside and prepare for the dinner rush hour when the sound of sobbing caught his attention.

"Leanne?" he called out to her as she stumbled blindly down the street, her cries for her son intermingled with pathetic whimpers as the fear for his safety escalated. "Lea!"

He ran to her, just in time, catching her in his arms as she slumped against the wall, her body failing her as her spirit weakened.

"Hey," he said, his one arm wrapped around her waist, supporting her, while the other reached up to her face, his palm cupping her cheek gently. "What's wrong?"

"It's Simon," she sobbed. "He's gone, he's run away, or… I don't know. He's just… he's gone."

"Come into the Bistro for a minute."

"No," she shook her head. "I need to keep looking. I need to find him."

"You're no good to him in this state," Nick insisted. "Come in, please, get yourself together and then I will come with you to look for him."

Leanne allowed Nick to lead her inside the Bistro and to a booth where he sat with her, holding her hand, caressing her skin softly with his thumb.

"Tell me what happened."

"I was… I was arguing with Carla–"

"Carla?" Nick exclaimed. "What has she–?"

"Oh, god, what have I done?" Leanne stared at Nick, the despair in her eyes clear. "I've messed everything up."

"What do you mean?" Nick shook his head. "What have you done?"

"I feel like I'm losing it."

"Hey, we're gonna find him, okay? Don't you worry about that. We'll find Simon."

"It's not that, I mean, it is, but… the way I've been acting lately… you must've noticed?"

"Ahhh…" Nick grimaced as he weighed up the wisdom of agreeing with her.

"I can handle the truth, Nick."

"Okay, well… you have been, umm… a little…"

"Deranged?" Leanne suggested. "Psychotic?"

"A little overwrought and emotional?" Nick countered with a shrug.

"Talk about putting a positive spin on things," Leanne joked. "The thing is, when I realised Si was gone, it was like a bolt of lightning had struck me… like I could see everything clearly for the first time, I could see how I've been acting like… a crazy person, let's be honest, the things I've done. Nick! What have I done? With the baby and the wedding and… oh god! I'm gobsmacked you're still talking to me."

"I'd never stop talking to you," Nick said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and interlinking his fingers with hers.

"I am sorry, Nick, really I am so sorry for everything I put you through."

"Thank you," Nick accepted her apology. "I'm not gonna lie, you did cause a lot of problems for me, but… I know you've been through a lot. It must've been hard for you, coping on your own."

"The worst thing is how it must've affected Simon," she sobbed. "And now he's gone. What am I doing here? I have to go, I have to find him. Nothing else matters, nothing."

* * *

"So…" Peter said, glancing curiously at Carla as they walked side-by-side. "Are you gonna tell me what that scrap with Leanne was all about?"

"Let's just focus on finding Simon, yeah."

"Nice try."

"Try what?"

"I think it's called deflection."

"I'm not–" Carla cut off her protest with a deep sigh. "You're not gonna give up, are you?"

"What do you think?"

"Leanne was… I dunno, being her usual snide self. Having a go at me for dumping Nick, having a go at me for getting with Nick in the first place."

"If she floats, she's a witch?" Peter suggested.

"Summat like that," Carla couldn't help but smile. "That woman'd burn me at the stake no matter what I did."

"And that was it?"

"Well… I may have said one or two things in my defence I knew would wind her up."

"That doesn't matter, she had no right to hit a pregnant woman."

"I can take care of myself," Carla reassured him with a grin as they reached a t-junction. "We've already looked down that way," Carla noted as she pointed to the road on the left.

"This way then?" Peter pointed in the opposite direction. "But, if he's not there…"

"We'll find him."

"I think I should call the cops."

"I agree," Carla nodded her support. "Listen, why don't you go on ahead, I need to catch my breath for a minute."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Carla reassured him. "It's hard work is all, carrying this little fella around all day."

"At least he's safe in there," Peter reflected. "Ain't no chance of him running away."

"Simon will be fine," Carla insisted. "You have to stay positive, okay?"

"I'm trying," he said, grabbing hold of her hand and squeezing it gently. "I'm glad you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"At home resting."

"I–"

"Or at least go back to the factory," he pressed her. "If you cut through the alley back there, you'll be able to get in through the rear door."

"Call me, okay, as soon as you hear anything."

"I will, I promise."

Carla watched Peter continue his search alone, his shoulders hunched forward dejectedly, his fists jammed into his pockets as he walked, his eyes sweeping from left to right and left again, desperate to catch sight of his son.

* * *

"There is another person I need to apologise to," Leanne confessed as she walked with Nick, revived in her search for Simon. "Somehow, I doubt she's gonna be as forgiving as you."

"Carla?"

"Yeah," she confirmed with a grimace.

"You don't give her enough credit, you know."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what I did."

"Oh god."

"I, ahh…" Leanne screwed up her face, fearful of Nick's reaction. "I may have… slapped her."

"Is she okay?"

"Carla? She'll be with the roaches surviving the nuclear holocaust, that one," Leanne sneered, until she caught sight of Nick's face and added a judicious, "calm down, it's a joke."

"Comparing the mother of my child to a cockroach?"

"The point is, she's a tough cookie. A little slap won't do her no harm."

"Sounds to me like you're almost proud of it?"

"Well…" Leanne shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not, really I'm not. And when I think about how I've messed things up so badly for her as well as you, I'll admit it, I'm ashamed of myself."

"And you, don't forget," Nick added. "You've messed things up for yourself. And for Peter."

"And Simon," Leanne finished the list with a sigh. "Oh, god, Nick, where is he? I'll never forgive myself if something's happened to him."

* * *

Carla rested her head against the back door of the factory, pausing yet again to catch her breath. "You're tiring mummy out, baby, yes, you are," she cooed as she rubbed her bump. "Let's have a little sit down, yeah?"

She trudged wearily across the darkened sewing floor and into her office, switching on the light and looking forward to sinking into her chair and resting her aching bones.

"What are you doing here?" Carla exclaimed in shock when she caught sight of the person that was sitting in her much longed-for chair.

"Don't tell dad where I am," Simon pleaded with her. "Please, Carla."

"Why not?" she asked, pulling up a chair close to Simon. "He's really worried about you."

"Is he angry with me? For running away?"

"No, of course he isn't. All he cares about is that you're safe. Hmm…? You wanna tell me why you ran away?"

"Dunno," Simon shrugged and cast his eyes downward.

"I think you do, young man," Carla pressed him. "You'll feel better if you get it off your chest."

Simon peered up at Carla, who's heart broke a little at the sight of the sadness and confusion in his warm and innocent brown eyes.

"Go on," she encouraged him.

"Everything's changed," he whimpered. "Everything's changed and no one will tell me why."

"You mean your mum and dad splitting up?"

Simon nodded. "They think I'm a kid and I won't understand."

"They're just trying to protect you, that's all."

"I miss my mum."

"You still get to see her, don't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"What is it, Si?"

"She's sad all the time these days. And angry. Like she was with you today."

"You mustn't worry about that, Si."

"I just want my mum back," Simon sobbed.

"Listen, Si, your mum is still your mum, she's just…" Carla scrambled to find the right words to describe Leanne's behaviour to such a young mind. "You know when… when you're upset about something, and you've got all these feelings going around and around and around inside you, and you don't know what to do with them and then sometimes… sometimes they just burst out of you and you might, I dunno, you might yell at your dad, or you might push your friend over in the playground. Have you ever felt like that, Si?"

"Yeah."

"But it doesn't change who you are, right?"

"I guess not."

"Well, that's how your mum's feeling right now. She's got all sorts of things churning around inside her and sometimes they come out in not very nice ways. But I know for a fact that, no matter what she's feeling, she loves you so so much. And so does your dad."

"Do they love each other?" Simon asked hopefully.

"I'm sure they do, in their own way."

"They're not getting back together, are they?"

"I don't think so, Si," Carla said regretfully as she tousled his curls affectionately. "How do you feel about that?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "I want it to be like it was before."

"I know, mate, but life's not like that. It's not fair and sometimes we can't get what we want. But, you know what?"

"What?"

"We usually get what we need, even if we don't much like it at the time. But I can guarantee you that you will always be loved, always be wanted, and always be missed when you're not around. So… what d'ya say? Are you ready to go home?"

* * *

"Peter!" Leanne called out to her estranged husband, jogging towards him as he turned to her. "Anything?"

"Nothing," he shook his head despondently, "I was gonna call– what's he doing here?" Peter's steely gaze looked beyond Leanne to where Nick was approaching the pair.

"He's been helping me look for Simon," Leanne explained.

"It's all very cosy innit?" Peter sneered. "Is that the first place you went? To the Bistro to fetch your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Peter, mate," Nick interjected, his hands raised in the air, a sign of peace. "That's not exactly helpful right now, is it?"

"I'm not your mate."

"Oh my god!" Leanne exclaimed, ignoring the bickering men and pointing to where two figures were approaching them, hand-in-hand. "Look!"

"Si!" Peter yelled, ecstatic to see his son.

"Go on," Carla urged Simon, letting go of his hand and giving him a little shove in the direction of his mum and dad.

With a sheepish grin, Simon walked and then ran to Peter and Leanne, happy to be swept up in his father's arms and showered with his mum's kisses.

As Carla watched on, revelling in the glow from this joyous family reunion, Peter glanced up at her and, with a smile, mouthed the words "Thank you."


	33. Week 33: Dinner date

**Week 33: Dinner date**

"I thought we could meet up," Nick said. "Discuss it all properly."

"I'm sorry, Nick," Carla said as she reluctantly slid into the seat opposite where he was sat, enjoying one of Roy's cooked breakfasts. "Discuss what exactly?"

"How we're going to co-parent."

Carla stared at him in confusion. "What is there to discuss?" she asked with furrowed brow.

"Well, you know, when can I see him? For how long? I guess that depends on how you're planning on feeding him."

"Feeding?" Carla shrugged, bewildered by the entire conversation.

"You know, if you plan on breastfeeding or bottle feeding."

"I–"

"Because I want to be involved in everything."

"You wanna be involved in breastfeeding?"

"No!" Nick shook his head, frustrated by Carla's laissez faire attitude. "Come on, Carla, you know what I mean."

"Actually, Nick, I don't. You do know I won't stop you seeing him?"

"Yeah, I know you say that, but it'd make me feel better to know exactly where your boundaries lie."

"Can't we just see how it goes?"

"I need to know where I stand, Carla, please."

"Okay, fine," she relented with a deep sigh. "If you wanna talk about, let's talk about it. When were you thinking?"

"Today."

"Today?"

"Yeah, I'm working the dinner shift, but if you wanted to come into the Bistro beforehand?"

"I guess," Carla shrugged, realising the futility of further protestations. "Straight after work? Say, six?"

"Can we make it five?"

"Okay, fine, five it is." With the meeting arranged, Carla rose to her feet and gathered up her things. "I better get to the factory before the girls' revolt."

"Bye," Nick farewelled Carla, watching her until she had exited the café, before turning to face Leanne as she hovered nearby. "You know I can see you there?"

"I was just getting a coffee," she protested her innocence; nevertheless, she sidled up to his table, a coy smile on her face.

"You were lurking," he joked, before pushing out with his foot the chair Carla had recently vacated, nodding to it, an invitation for her to join him. "Sit if you're sitting."

"You and Carla seemed friendly," she observed casually as she sunk down into the seat.

"We were talking about the baby."

"So not…?"

"We're not getting back together, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, no," Leanne shrugged casually, trying to keep her elation at the revelation under wraps. "I'd never."

"That ship's well and truly sailed."

"In that case…" Leanne's voice faltered as her nerve began to fail.

"What?"

"Umm… What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm working. Why?"

"I just thought you might like to come over for your tea?"

"To the flat?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "But, if you're working…"

"I can swap shifts," he offered without a moment's hesitation.

"We can do it another night if–"

"No," Nick insisted. "Let's do it tonight."

* * *

"Hurry up, Mrs C!" Sean called out from the steps of Underworld where the workforce was huddled together in the cold morning air, waiting for their boss to arrive and let them inside. "We're freezing our wotsits off out here."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Carla cried, rummaging in her bag for her keys.

"Carla!"

Carla turned at the sound of her name and smiled when she saw Simon walking towards her, Peter at his side.

"Hiya, Si," she greeted him with a broad smile. "You off to school, are ya?"

"Ahem!" Sean cleared his throat and tapped his foot impatiently.

"Let yourselves in and get to work," Carla called out to him, lobbing her keys through the air towards him. "Sorry about that," she said, focusing her attention back on Simon. "What was I saying? Oh, yes, school!"

"Teacher's gonna show us how to make a volcano today," he enthused.

"A volcano? Wow!"

"Yeah," he nodded eagerly. "It's a science thing. And then we're going swimming and then we're gonna start reading a new book."

"Can I swap lives with you? I think I fancy a day at school more than the factory."

"Dad," Simon asked, tugging on Peter's sleeve and peering up at him. "Can Carla come round for her tea?"

"I don't know," Peter shrugged, looking at Carla with a grin and a raise of his eyebrows. "Can she?"

"What?" Carla asked. "Tonight?"

"Why not?"

"Ahhh… Yeah, I'd like that. I should be free by six, if that's okay?"

"Yay!" Simon cheered. "Can we have skabetti, dad?"

"Maybe Carla doesn't like spaghetti, son."

"I love spaghetti," Carla said, tousling Simon's curls affectionately. "So, six then?"

"Can't wait," Peter said, watching as Carla walked towards the factory door, smiling at her as she turned to give them a little wave before disappearing inside.

* * *

"I'm on my way," Carla said, her voice terse as she pressed the phone against her ear while she hurried over the cobbles on her way to the Bistro. "I'm sorry, okay, but I got caught up. You know how it is. Yes, I'll see you in a minute. Yes, goodbye. Oh!" Carla gasped, lowering the phone from her ear as she narrowly avoided crashing into the person walking the other way. "I'm sorry, I'm… Oh, it's you."

"Yep," Leanne smiled awkwardly, avoiding Carla's gaze. "It's me."

"Been shopping for the essentials, I see," Carla observed, nodding at the wine bottle in Leanne's hand.

"Summat like that, yeah."

"I should…" Carla trailed off, trying to extricate herself from the awkward encounter. "Nick's expecting me."

"Carla, wait!" Leanne called out to Carla as she turned to walk away. "I've been meaning to come see you."

"Oh?" Carla asked hesitantly. "Why's that?"

"I wanted to, umm… the thing is… I'm, ahh…" Leanne took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm sorry," before her courage failed her completely.

"What was that, Leanne?" Carla asked, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth at the unexpectedly glorious situation she found herself in. "I didn't quite catch…"

"Ugh," Leanne rolled her eyes, before spitting out an "I'm sorry," through gritted teeth.

"And what exactly are you apologising for?"

"Do you really need me to spell it out?"

"When there's so many things you should be apologising for," Carla shrugged, not willing to let Leanne off the hook so easily. "Then yes, you do."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Carla merely raised a well-groomed eyebrow, a more pointed response than words could ever convey.

"I'm sorry for everything," Leanne admitted with a sigh. "All of it. Sleeping with Nick, the hens' night, the wedding, everything. There's no good excuse, I just… I kinda lost the plot there for a bit. You know how it is, Carla, you find yourself doing crazy things and you don't even know why, only that you can't stop."

"I do," Carla said, reflecting on the truth in Leanne's words. "I know the feeling very well."

"I'm sorry if I messed things up for you and Nick."

"You didn't," Carla reassured her. "Me and Nick, we're better off as friends. In fact, maybe I should be thanking you for making me realise that."

"Oh, right, well… that's good, I guess."

"Yeah," Carla nodded. "I better go… enjoy your wine."

* * *

"Dad!"

"What is it, Si?" Peter asked as he stirred the simmering pot of bolognese sauce. "I'm busy."

"I wanna help you cook the tea."

"Am I hearing things?" Peter asked in feigned shock as he stared down at his son. "Are you actually volunteering to do some work?"

"Well, dad, we are having a guest for tea," Simon pointed out. "We have to make it special."

"You really like her, don't you?" Peter asked. "Carla, I mean."

"Yeah, she's cool."

"But not cooler than me? Right?"

"Dad," Simon stared at his dad, his eyebrows raised. "She's way cooler than you."

"Hmm… okay, then, why don't you help with the garlic bread."

"I don't like garlic."

"Yes, you do," Peter asserted. "You like it when it's in garlic bread."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Now," Peter said, gathering up a jar of minced garlic, a pat of butter, a bowl and some spoons, and placing them onto the kitchen table. "Sit down, and…" he scooped out some of the butter and garlic into the bowl and plonked it in front of Simon. "Mix those together."

Peter watched from his reprised position by the stove as his son focused his energies on the mixing task in front of him.

"Hey, Si?"

"Mmm," Simon murmured.

"You know how you said you liked Carla?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to see more of her?"

"Why?"

"No reason," Peter shrugged. "Just canvassing opinion."

* * *

"So…" Carla stared at Nick expectantly across one of the Bistro's dining tables. "You're the one who wanted to talk."

"Listen, I know you said I could be as involved as I wanted."

"I meant it, you can have as much access as you want."

"The thing is," Nick said. "I need some specifics."

"Like what?"

"Like, I dunno," Nick shrugged. "Do you want me to call ahead and book some time?"

"Book some time?" Carla cried, aghast at Nick's choice of words. "This is our son you're talking about, not your flaming lawyer. You don't need to make a booking to see him."

"So, I can just turn up whenever I want?"

"Oh, gosh, Nick, I don't know. I've never had a kid before, I don't know what it's going to be like, or how I'll feel."

"You can't give me any guarantees? On anything?"

"Look, you've still got a key to my flat, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then, use it. Call first, in case we're out or he's asleep. And then come over, come in, be a dad."

"What about overnight?"

"Oh, I don't know, Nick, that's a big call."

"I really want to have him overnight as soon as possible. It's important for bonding."

"The thing is, Nick," Carla attempted to explain, placing her hand fondly on her bump. "He's been with me every moment of every day for, what, seven months now? His whole life. The thought of being apart from him, I can't, I just can't imagine it. Not for an hour let alone a whole night. And, to be perfectly frank, I don't know when I will be ready."

"What about me? I am his dad."

"Well… maybe, I dunno, you could stay over some nights. Would that work for you? In the spare room obviously."

"I guess that's one solution," Nick shrugged, wholly unconvinced, when a new idea suddenly occurred to him. "What about, now don't dismiss this out of hand, promise me you'll give it some serious thought."

"What?"

"How about if I moved in?"

"With me?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded enthusiastically. "It's the perfect solution, Carla. I'd be on hand to help you out, twenty-four seven. I'd get to see my son grow up. I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier. What do you say?"

* * *

"Are your dad and Deirdre not joining us?" Carla asked, glancing about as Peter showed her into the back room of his father's house where the table was laid in preparation for tea with only three place-settings.

"Deirdre's at her pottery class and dad's at the library," Peter explained. "So it's just the three of us. I hope that's alright with you?"

"Yeah, of course," Carla said. "Where is Simon by the way?"

"He's upstairs, oh, no, I think I hear him on the stairs. How someone so small can make so much racket–"

"Carla!" Simon cried as he came sprinting into the room, greeting Carla with a hug.

"Aww, Si," Carla returned his hug, kissing the top of his head affectionately. "That's a nice welcome."

"Your tummy's really big," Simon observed with all the brutal honestly of childhood.

"Si!" Peter remonstrated with his son. "I'm sorry about him, Carla."

"No, it's alright," Carla waved off Peter's apology. "Si's right, I'm huge. Not for much longer though."

"How long?" Simon asked.

"Seven weeks."

"That's ages away," he moaned, his concept of time markedly different than the seasoned adults.

"You know what, I wish it was longer," Carla said with a grimace. "Seven weeks is gonna fly by."

"I woulda thought you'd had enough of being pregnant by now?" Peter asked. "What with carrying all that extra weight. The baby, I mean, just the baby. You, you have not gained any weight at all."

"Nice save," Carla laughed, before shuddering at the thought of the labour that was rapidly approaching. "As for giving birth, I can't even think about, you know, how that's gonna happen. I just… no."

* * *

"This is…" Nick glanced about the room, taking in the table that was set with crisp white linen, the dimmed overheard lights, and the candles scattered about the room. But most of all he noticed Leanne, dressed in a fitted black dress, her hair styled into a simple but sleek do, and her pale cheeks flushed with a faint rosy hue as she smiled at him. "Is this a date?"

"Umm…" Leanne faltered, her nerves threatening to overwhelm her. "If you want it to be."

"That's not an answer."

"Okay, then," she sighed. "I was hoping it would be."

"Wow, I, umm…" Nick grinned at her. "In that case, shall we start again?"

"Start…?" Leanne shrugged. "I don't–"

"You look beautiful," he said, quickly closing the gap between them and kissing her softly on the cheek. "Oh, damn, you know what I've forgotten?"

"What?"

"I'll be back in one minute," he said. "Do not move a muscle."

"Nick!" Leanne called after him, but he was gone, running down the stairs and out the front door as fast as he dared.

* * *

"I made the garlic bread all by myself," Simon declared proudly as they sat down for their tea, gathered around the kitchen table, a cosy little threesome.

"Did you now?" Carla said. "In that case, I'll take two slices, thank you very much."

Simon flashed Carla the biggest toothy grin he could muster as he held out the basket of garlic bread for her, while Peter dished up the spaghetti bolognese.

"Can I have some more, dad," Simon pleaded as he eyed what he considered an incredibly meagre portion on his plate.

"Eat that first and then we'll see," Peter promised as he sat down and glanced from Carla to Simon, delighting in the two smiling happy faces that beamed back at him. "Well, dig in guys."

"Thanks for this," Carla said as she sprinkled some grated parmesan over her spaghetti. "For the invitation."

"Thank Simon," Peter said, nodding at his son who was busy tucking into his 'skabetti', splodges of red sauce already dribbling down his chin. "He's the one who invited you," adding a sincere, "I'm glad he did," with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, me too," Carla said, smiling back at Peter. Their eyes locked together for the longest moment, until Carla, flushing slightly under the intensity of his gaze, broke away and diverted her attention to the meal in front of her. "This looks delicious," she declared, picking up her fork and twisting the long strands of pasta around and around the prongs, ever conscious of Peter's eyes that repeatedly returned to look her way.

* * *

"Hello?"

"It's me," Nick's voice crackled through the security intercom from the street and up to where Leanne was waiting impatiently in the flat.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"You invited me round for dinner, remember?"

"Yeah, until you ran off."

"Just let me up."

"No."

"Lea, please."

"Not until you tell me where you went."

"I'll tell you when I get upstairs."

"No, you'll tell me now."

"It's a surprise," he said, his voice light and teasing. "It's a nice surprise."

"Hmm…" Leanne thought it over for a moment. "It better be."

_Bzzzzzzz_

Nick didn't hesitate; he pushed open the door and bounded up the stairs, entering the flat once more with a grin on his face and one hand behind his back.

"Well?" Leanne asked, her arms folded across her chest as she glared at him. "Where's this big surprise?"

"I couldn't arrive to a date empty-handed now, could I?"

"What?"

"For you," he declared, revealing the bunch of flowers he had hidden behind his back and holding them out to her. "They're not fancy, but they're the best that Dev had."

"That's where you were just now?" Leanne asked as she accepted the gift. "Buying me flowers?"

"Is that a nice enough surprise for you?"

"It'll do for now."

* * *

"Si?" Carla whispered, leaning in close to where he was laying, tucked up nice and snug underneath his blankets, his eyes squeezed shut. She paused for a moment, watching and listening, until the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the soft and slow in and out of his breath convinced her that he was indeed fast asleep. "G'night Si," she farewelled him with a soft kiss on his forehead, before gently closing and putting away the book she had been reading to him, and rising to her feet.

Peter watched her from where he was stood leaning against the doorframe, the smile on his face fixed and broad as he reflected on the rapport that had developed between Carla and his son.

"You didn't mind, did you?" Peter whispered to her as they tiptoed down the stairs, anxious not to make any noise that would awaken Simon. "He can be pretty insistent when he wants to be."

"No," Carla brushed off his concerns. "He's a sweet kid. Besides, it's practice, innit, for when I have to read bedtime stories to this one."

"You're really good with him," Peter said. "You're gonna make an amazing mum."

"We'll see," Carla casually shrugged off the compliment. "I've never been any good with kids before, except our Ryan."

"You should come over more often," Peter suggested offhandedly. "I mean, Si likes having you around. Plus, he's on his best behaviour when you're here, which is a nice change."

"Anytime you want a babysitter," Carla offered. "Just give me a call, yeah. Hey, I saw Nick earlier."

"That must've been a treat for ya," Peter sneered, before adding a curt, "Sorry," as an afterthought.

"He's worried that he's not going to get as much access to junior as he wants."

"Don't tell me, he wants it all written up in some legal document in triplicate, doling out every minute of laddo's life until the poor kid turns eighteen?"

"Not quite," Carla laughed. "No, he, umm… he wants to move in."

"With you?"

"Yeah."

"That's umm…" Peter faltered. "How do you feel about that?"

"A little bit suffocated, to be honest with ya."

"It's a big move."

"It's not just about needing me own space," Carla explained. "And I know it's not the right time to be thinking about it but, at some point, I'll be wanting to start a relationship with somebody new. And having Nick there… I don't think it's a good idea."

"You're thinking about dating again?"

"Well, one day, yeah. Carla Connor was not created for celibacy, Peter, no way."

'Yeah, right…" Peter trailed off, suddenly thoughtful.

"You don't think it's too soon, do ya?" Carla asked, troubled by Peter's brooding silence. "Does me even thinking about dating again make me a selfish mum? I mean, he's not even born yet. Peter?"

"I told you, you're gonna make an amazing mum," Peter reassured her. "And, as for dating, if you're happy then there's every chance your son will be happy as well. I say, if you find the right man, then go for it."

* * *

"Thanks for this," Leanne said as she finished drying the last of the dishes that Nick had been washing. "But I told you, you really didn't have to. They could've waited til morning."

"Why leave something for the morning when you can easily do it now?"

"You always were a bit pedantic about these things," Leanne teased. "Everything has to be just so."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No," Leanne shook her head, a cheeky grin on her face. "I think it's cute."

"Cute?" Nick feigned offense. "You think I'm cute? What are we, sixteen again?"

"Oh no!" Leanne baulked at the thought. "I wouldn't wanna go back to that age. No way."

"There were some good things about being teenagers," Nick reflected. "I mean, we got together, got married, that's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, until we got divorced," Leanne rightly pointed out. "No, I think now is a much better time. Older and wiser and all that."

"Definitely wiser," Nick whispered. "Because I'd never let you go, Lea, not again."

Nick reached out and, gently brushing away the stray lock of hair that had fallen across Leanne's face, ran his fingers lightly over her cheek. And then, as they each instinctively moved their bodies and their faces closer to each other, they joined together as one; her arms reaching around him, drawing him close, his fingers clasped behind her head, raking through her hair. Finally, their lips met, their breath combined, and they kissed, not as the immature and unprepared lovers of their teen selves, but as two people who had experienced both the joys and the tribulations of life and knew with no shadow of a doubt what they wanted for their future.


	34. Week 34: Let them eat cake

**Week 34: Let them eat cake**

"Can't you stay?" Leanne pleaded with Nick, hanging awkwardly off his arm as he carefully straightened the collar of his polo shirt, staring into the bathroom mirror of the bookie's flat. "We could go back to bed. Please, Nick."

"I'd love to," he said with a sigh, turning to face her and, wrapping his arms around her waist, planted a soft kiss on her lips. "But Kylie really wants Max to feel at home. It's such a big upheaval for him, coming to live with her and David."

"I guess," Leanne shrugged. "But why do you have to go? I mean, what's Max to you?"

"Well, he's my… nephew I guess?"

"It's not like he's related or owt. Not by blood."

"You mean, like how Simon's not related to you?"

"That's different," she said, disentangling herself from Nick's embrace and stalking haughtily out of the bathroom and into the living room.

"Arrgh, dammit!" Nick muttered to himself before following in Leanne's footsteps. "Leanne! I'm sorry, okay, I didn't mean to imply he's not your son."

"No, it's fine," she shrugged. "At least I know how you really feel about him. And I know biologically he's not mine, but he feels like he's my son. I feel like I'm his mum."

"And you are," Nick reassured her. "In every way that matters."

"What way is that?" she asked bitterly. "It's not like we even live together anymore. I hardly ever see him."

"So… why don't you do something about it?"

"Yeah, maybe," Leanne said. "Hey, how about I come with you to Max's thing?"

"Ahhh…" Nick hesitated to answer.

"You don't want me to come?"

"It's not that."

"You don't want to be seen with me in public?"

"You're determined to pick a fight with me today, aren't you?"

"What exactly are we doing here, Nick?" Leanne asked, suddenly combative. "I mean, I thought we were in some sort of relationship."

"We are."

"But you don't want me coming to your family do's? Are you ashamed of me or summat?"

"No, it's just that Carla will be there."

"So? You two split, who you see's got nowt to do with her. Besides, she don't care what you get up to, trust me. She said as much to me t'other day."

"Lea, she's still carrying my child. I don't want anything to upset her. In a few weeks when the baby's here, then we can tell people."

"I can wait a few weeks," Leanne capitulated gruffly.

"And, speaking of Simon, don't you think he's had enough upheaval in his life lately? Hmm?"

"I guess you're right."

"I'll come back as soon as the party's done, I promise. Then we'll have the whole evening together. Just you and me."

"You better get going then," Leanne urged him. "The sooner you go, the sooner you get back."

"Okay," Nick smiled at her and, kissing her softly again, whispered his promise, "I'll see you soon."

Leanne paused for a few moments, thoughtful over what Nick had said to her. And then, as she caught sight of a framed photograph of her and Simon, both of them beaming at the camera, happy, their arms wrapped tightly around the other, she took action. Snatching up her keys from the kitchen counter, she tripped lightly down the stairs and out the front door.

* * *

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Alright!" Peter yelled out to the unseen visitor banging on the front door. "I'm coming!"

_Bang! Bang! –_

I said I was coming!" he cried in exasperation as he opened the door. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk," Leanne declared matter-of-fact, pushing her way past Peter and through to the kitchen at the back of the house. "About Simon."

"Come right in," Peter said, rolling his eyes as he dutifully followed Leanne through the hallway and faced her with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "Well? What about Simon?"

"I want him to stay with me at the flat."

"No," Peter shook his head, adamant. "He lives with me, I'm his dad."

"And I'm his mum," Leanne countered. "So, he should spend at least half his time with me."

"You're not his mum, Lea."

"Maybe not biologically," she conceded. "But in every way that counts. In Simon's eyes, I am just as much his mum as you are his dad."

"You've got no legal claim over him. Now, if you want to make him his tea some nights–"

"Ha!" Leanne scoffed. "And be a glorified babysitter for Mister Tightwad here? No ta."

"What do you–?"

"This isn't some sort of negotiation, Peter. This is happening and I'm here out of courtesy to let you know that it's happening. Simon's staying with me at the flat."

"Talking of the flat," Peter came at the argument from a different angle. "When exactly are you moving out?"

"I'm not," she declared. "Why should I?"

"Because it's my flat."

"No, it's our flat. Well, it was. Now you live here. Where am I meant to go if you kick me out? Besides, I'll need somewhere stable for when Simon comes to stay."

"You are unbelievable," Peter shook his head incredulously. "You really are a piece of work, cheating on me, lying to me, destroying our family, and now you start making all these demands? No more, you hear me? I've had enough. You're not getting Simon. And you're not getting the flat. Get your stuff and get the hell outta my home and outta my life, you evil–"

"Dad?" Simon whimpered from where he was standing at the kitchen door, until that moment unseen by either of his parents. "Mum?"

"Si, go back to your room," Peter ordered. "Now."

"But, dad," Simon pleaded, his lips beginning to tremble as he struggled to control his emotions.

"Go!" Peter roared. "Get out!"

"Peter!" Leanne cried in horror, sweeping Simon up in her arms as the tears began to flow down his cheeks. "You're upsetting him."

"Me? Upsetting him?" Peter exclaimed. "You're the one who's come in here making all sorts of demands, threatening me."

"I never–"

"I want you to leave," Peter commanded. "Now."

"But–"

"Look at him! Look what you're doing to him."

"I'm not doing–" Leanne cried in exasperation, giving up on talking to Peter and focusing her energies on Simon instead. "Okay, Si, I'm gonna go now, but I'll see you real soon, yeah?"

"Don't go," Simon pleaded with her.

"I love you," she said, kissing him affectionately on the cheek before disentangling herself from his embrace. "Are you happy now?" she sneered at Peter before turning away and walking towards the door.

"Mum!" Simon cried out, making a move to run after her. But Peter held him back, gripping first his arms and then, as the lad fought against his restraints, wrapped his arms tightly around his little body. But still Simon twisted and turned and kicked and punched, all to no avail as Peter held him tight, until they heard the sound of the front door close behind Leanne.

"Simon, please," Peter tried his best to calm his son. "Stop it."

"No!" Simon yelled, finally breaking free of Peter's grip and immediately running out of the room and upstairs, leaving his father a scathing "I hate you" shot as he went.

* * *

_Tap tap tap_

"Si?" Peter's voice was soft and gentle as he quietly twisted open the door handle and, pushing open the door, stepped into his son's bedroom.

"Go 'way!" came the muffled response from the small figure lying face down on the bed, his tears soaked into the pillow and his arms wrapped tight around his favourite teddy bear, the only comfort he could find in his agony.

"I'm sorry," Peter said as he sat on the edge of Simon's bed and, bending down over him, gave his curls a soft kiss. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well you did."

"Can we talk about it?"

"No."

"Please, Si," Peter begged. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"You won't get mad?" Simon sniffed as he turned his face to his dad, his face scrunched up and his eyes glistening with tears.

"Of course not," Peter reassured him. "Come on, Si, you can tell me anything, you know that."

"'Kay," Simon muttered, gathering the courage to tell his dad the truth. "I wanna…"

"What is it, Si?"

"I wanna stay with mum."

"What?" Peter was taken aback. "You wanna live with Leanne and not me?"

"No," Simon shook his head. "With both of you."

"Oh, son, you know me and your mum, we're not getting back together."

"I know that, dad," Simon rolled his eyes. "Just… sometimes I wanna stay with her. Maybe, I dunno…"

"Once or twice a week?" Peter suggested. "Would that make you happy?"

Simon nodded, his sorrowful frown transformed into a broad smile as he wrapped his arms around his dad's neck and hugged him tight.

"Thanks, dad."

* * *

"Carla!" Gail exclaimed as she opened the door to number 8. "It's you. Come in, come in. Everyone's here, as you can see. Everyone, Carla's here!"

Carla was saved from a rather awkward group greeting by Kylie pouncing on her and dragging her to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Carla cried, grabbing onto Kylie's hand. "What's up?"

"Everything!" Kylie bemoaned. "This. Max. Me."

"Babe, you're not making any sense."

"Look at him," Kylie spun Carla around so they were both facing the living room where David and Max were happily building a Lego spaceship together. "I don't know how he does it."

"Who?"

"David!" Kylie cried. "He's a natural with Max. He just seems to know exactly what to say and what to do and Max loves him for it. But with me…"

"You're his mum."

"The thing is, if he were given a choice, I know he'd rather be with Becky."

"Oh, Ky," Carla tried to reassure her. "It's what? Day one? You gotta give him, and you, a chance to settle in. Get used to each other. Now, stop being so hard on yourself and have fun."

"That's it? That's your advice? Have fun?"

"Yes, now off you go," Carla commanded as she gave Kylie a little shove. "Go and join your husband and your son."

Carla smiled indulgently as she watched Kylie tentatively approach David and Max and, lowering herself to the floor, joined in on their fun.

"Hi," Nick said as he took up Kylie's recently vacated spot by Carla's side. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Why wouldn't I? Kylie's a friend."

"And family," he added. "Sort of."

"Yeah, sort of," Carla laughed before grabbing her opportunity. "Listen, Nick, about what we were talking about–"

"Can I stop you there, Carla."

"But–"

"I've been thinking about it as well and I don't think it's such a good idea for me to move in with you."

"You don't?" Carla asked, both bewildered secretly delighted by Nick's change of heart.

"Well, you know, we're not together anymore so it'd be a little weird, don't ya think?"

"Now that you mention it."

"You're not too disappointed, are you?" Nick asked with genuine concern.

"Me? Disappointed?" Carla stifled a laugh. "I'm sure I'll, umm, I'll get over it somehow."

"Good, I'm glad we could be mature about this."

"Are you alright, Nick?"

"Yeah, I'm great. Why?"

"You just seem… I dunno…" Carla shrugged. "Very upbeat?"

"And why wouldn't I be?" he asked, unable to keep the smile that was already on his face from widening. "Life is good. Little Max here has joined the family, our boy will be here soon, I'm…"

"I'm…?" Carla prompted him.

"I'm… happy," he declared. "Who wouldn't be in my position."

"That's, umm…" Carla faltered. "I'm happy for you, you know, being happy."

"Carla," Gail said as she sidled up to the pair. "Would you mind, if you could help me out with the cake?"

"The cake?"

"Yes," the elder Platt nodded, an unnaturally wide smile on her face. "Cake. For Max. Come on, we can have a nice girly chat while we work."

"Oh," Carla said through a pasted-on smile. "Great."

Shooting Nick, who was stood, silently laughing at Carla's predicament, her best death stare, Carla followed Gail into the kitchen to carry out her cake duties.

* * *

"If you've come back to have another go at me," Peter shouted as he stalked to the front door and pulled it open, "then you're wasting your– Carla, I wasn't expecting you."

"Clearly not," Carla said, her lips twitching with amusement. "Who's been having a go at you today?"

"Leanne," he said, rolling his eyes at the memory. "Never mind about her, come in, please."

"Ta."

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked as he ushered her into the back room.

"Actually, I'm not here to see you."

"In that case…"

"I've brought Simon this," she said, holding out a paper plate with a generous wedge of chocolate cake sitting proudly on top. "I've just been to Max's homecoming party and swiped this for Simon."

"Thanks, Carla, that's so thoughtful," Peter said, admiring the cake and, reaching out, his finger extended, attempted to swipe some of the decadent frosting that covered it.

"Oi!" Carla protested, moving the cake out of Peter's reach. "This is Simon's, not yours."

"Just a teensy little bit?"

"No," Carla shook her head. "You have no idea what I went through to get this cake. I'm delivering it in one piece to the young master of the house."

"Go on, tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What did you have to endure for the sake of a slice of cake?"

"Girly chat with Gail Platt for starters."

"Okay," Peter laughed. "You win."

"Where is he anyway?" Carla asked. "Simon."

"Oh, he's upstairs. Did you want me to go get him?"

"No," Carla put a hand on Peter's arm, a silent plea for him not to go. "No, stay here and talk to me."

"Alright," he agreed with a smile. "Sit down then. What did you want to talk about?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Anything. Hey, I've got summat. Nick's only gone and changed his mind, hasn't he? Doesn't wanna move in anymore."

"Why the change of heart?"

"Not a clue, although I can't say I'm not relieved."

"You know what this means, don't ya?"

"What?"

"You can get yourself a new fella," he said. "Not until after the baby arrives, obviously."

"Oh, I dunno. I could meet someone when I walk out onto those cobbles today and then, bang! That'd be it, I'd fall in love and it'd be happily ever after."

"I hope you do," Peter whispered hoarsely. "You deserve to be happy."

"Or," Carla added suggestively. "I could've already met him and…"

"And…?"

Carla didn't answer in words, but with a lean of her body towards Peter, and the closing of her eyes as he did the same.

"Is that cake?" Simon asked as he bounded into the kitchen. "Can I have some?"

"That is cake," Carla confirmed with a rueful laugh. "And you know what Si? It's all yours."

"Thanks, Carla," he said, hurrying to the cutlery drawer and bringing back three forks. "We can share."

"Great!" Peter said enthusiastically, wasting no time in grabbing a fork and digging into the soft sweetness of the cake. "You two better get in quick before I scoff the lot. Come on," he nudged Carla into action.

As Carla cut off a bitesize portion of the cake, at odds with the huge hunks Peter and Simon were shovelling into their mouths, she couldn't help but sneak glances at Peter, very conscious of how close they had come to kissing before Simon had interrupted them. She didn't mind the interruption, though. She couldn't get angry at Simon, never. And besides, she knew she would have another chance with Peter. Sooner or later, they would have their chance.


	35. Week 35: DIY Queen

**Week 35: DIY Queen**

"Yes!" Carla barked into the security buzzer, aggressively scraping away the sweat-laden tendrils of hair that had become plastered to her forehead.

"Ah…" Peter's suddenly hesitant voice crackled through the line. "It's, umm, it's me."

"Who's me?"

"It's Peter."

"Oh," Carla said, her voice softening the tiniest amount. "What do you want?"

"I came to see you," he explained. "Could I, I dunno, maybe come up?"

The buzz of Carla stabbing the security door release button with her finger was not the warm welcome Peter was expecting. Nevertheless, he pushed open the door and climbed the stairs, before letting himself into Carla's flat through the door which she had already unlatched for him. And then he was there, standing in front of her, looking at the dark scowl on her face with trepidation and half-wishing he could travel back some five minutes, to a time before he had rung Carla's front door bell that day.

"I was in town," he began with more than a few misgivings about Carla's potential reaction. "And I passed that little French patisserie, you know the one you said you liked?"

"You remembered me saying that?" the darkness lifted from Carla's face as she watched Peter stumble through his clumsy offer of a favourite tidbit.

"I do listen," he said, allowing himself to flash her a small smile, hopeful that his gift had shifted her mood. "Sometimes."

"So," she grinned back at him, nodding to the paper bag in his hand. "What did you get me?"

"What would your first choice be?" he asked, silently praying he'd chosen correctly.

"Umm…" she pondered his question thoughtfully. "The one like a snail, you know, all twisty with raisins."

"Un pain aux raisins pour vous madame," Peter declared in his very best French accent, handing over the paper bag to Carla.

"Ooh, ta," she thanked him, happily taking the bag from him and heading to the kitchen. "You got yourself summat, yeah?"

"Pain aux chocolat," he confirmed.

"So, this was just you fishing for an invitation to stay for coffee, was it?"

"Did it work?"

"Dash of milk, no sugar, right?"

"I'm not the only one with a good memory," he said, watching her intently as she busied herself with the coffee machine. "What's happened to you, anyway?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"You," he nodded to her, looking her up and down, from the hair tied in a messy bun, the oversized t-shirt and track pants, and the bare feet. "You look, I dunno, frazzled."

"Frazzled?"

"Yeah, you know, a bit messy, a bit on edge, very un-Carla Connor-like."

"You'd be frazzled and all if you had to decipher flat pack instructions."

"Flat pack?" Peter laughed at the image that flashed into his mind. "You?"

"For the nursery," she explained. "I ordered some furniture, you know, a cot, chest of drawers, only I didn't read the small print. I thought it would come already built."

"Only it came as a flat pack? Why didn't you hire a man to put it together?"

"Are you saying I can't do it myself?"

"I wouldn't dare."

"Well, I can. I could," she clarified. "If a normal sane person had written the instructions. Honestly, it's a load of gobbledegook."

"I tell you what," he suggested. "Why don't we sit down, relax, eat our pastries, and then I'll give you a hand."

"You want to spend your weekend helping me build furniture?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"What about Simon?"

"He's staying with Leanne," he revealed. "So, how about it?"

* * *

"We could… watch a movie, order some pizza, umm… play some board games? You tell me, Si, what do you wanna do?"

Simon merely shrugged in response to Leanne's question.

"Come on, Si," she encouraged him. "Tell me what you want to do, unless you wanna come clothes shopping with me in town?"

"Dad was teaching me a new trick with the football," Simon piped up, the threat of being dragged around town enough to get his tongue moving.

"Was he now?"

"Can we go to the park and practice?"

"If that's what you wanna do, then yes, we'll go to the park, right after lunch."

"Can I have some chocolate milk?" Simon asked hopefully.

"Course you can."

"And can I watch cartoons?"

"You can do whatever you like," Leanne said with a smile, happy that Simon was back home; even if it was just for one night, it was a start. And, if he wanted to drink chocolate milk and watch cartoons, she thought, then he was going to find no argument with her.

_Beep beep Beep beep_

Leanne snatched up her phone and read the latest text message, the last in a series that had stretched out over the course of the morning.

_Nick: I need to see you_

She immediately replied back: _I told you, not while Simon's here_

_Nick: I'll make it worth your while_

"Mum!" Simon called out. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah," Leanne focused her attention back on Simon. "Of course, I am. What were you saying?"

"Can I have a cookie with my chocolate milk?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

* * *

"Didn't you want to do this with Nick?" Peter asked as he and Carla kneeled on the floor of her spare room, each staring down at the myriad of wooden pieces, screws, bolts, and assorted doodads, confounded by how they were all meant to fit together.

"Why would I?" Carla asked, leaning forward and grouping the various components into piles.

"Well, because he's the dad," Peter said as he picked up the instructions and studied them intently. "I think these screws go with the base not the sides."

"Do they?"

"Yeah, they're a little bit longer."

"Okay, put them over here then," she said, gathering up the offensive screws and moving them to their rightful place. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Nick. Shouldn't he be helping you?"

"Why? If he fancies building a cot, he can build one at his mother's. This is my home, it's nowt to do with Nick."

"You really are determined to do this on your own, aren't you?"

"What choice do I have?" Carla shrugged. "This baby's coming soon and I need to deal with it. There's really nothing more to it. I'm not saying I wouldn't rather be doing it with someone else, with the father. I think that's why I stayed with Nick so long. Because I wanted that security, that knowledge that there was someone by my side that had my back."

"And now?"

"Now…" Carla was thoughtful for a moment before responding. "Now I'm the security. I will be all the security this little guy needs."

* * *

"I bounce the ball on this foot," Simon explained, pausing for a moment as he and Leanne walked down the street to jiggle his right foot in the air, followed by his left. "And then this foot. And then back again."

"Really?" Leanne murmured, only half paying attention as their walk brought them in line with number 8 Coronation Street.

"And then," he continued his rambling. "I bounce it on my knee, but I can't do that real good yet. Dad's much better than me."

"Is he?" Leanne asked indifferently, sneaking a glance at the Platt's front door as they walked past, disappointed that it seemingly remained firmly shut. "If you practice every day, I'm sure you'll be just as good as him in no time."

"Hey!" Nick called out as he jogged to catch up with them, trying to act casual and not as if he had spotted them through the front window and come chasing after them, desperate to speak to them. "Where are you two off to?"

"We're going to the park," Simon informed him solemnly. "Mum's going to help me practice my football tricks."

"Is she now?" Nick asked as he fell into step next to Leanne, flashing her a broad smile in greeting.

"See, watch!" Simon demanded as he stopped to show off his ball skills, bouncing it from foot to foot, his tongue sticking out as he focused all of his attention on the ball.

"When can I see you?" Nick whispered to Leanne as they both watched Simon, applauding at the appropriate times.

"Monday."

"I can't wait that long."

"You're not gonna give up, are you?"

"On you? Never."

Leanne turned to look Nick in the eye, pondering the gravity of his words.

"Maybe later," she conceded with a smile.

"Later when?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "After Si's gone to bed."

* * *

"Lift the right side a little bit," Carla guided Peter as he held a framed Winnie the Pooh print against the wall of the nursery. "Just a teensy bit more… stop! You've got it."

Carla watched on with satisfaction as Peter hung the print on the wall before joining her to admire the effect.

"Is that it then?" he asked. "Are we done?"

"Umm…" Carla surveyed the room, mentally checking off everything she had bought for her baby's first bedroom. "I know what's missing."

"What?" Peter asked as Carla rushed out of the room, returning almost straight away, carrying in her arms a soft and fluffy light blue-grey throw, draping it over the comfy rocking chair situated in the corner of the room.

"I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time in that chair," Carla said. "So, I may as well make it nice and comfy."

"It's perfect."

"It is, isn't it?" Carla asked, looking about the room, taking it all in. "Everything is just perfect."

"There's nothing left to do now, except wait for junior to make an appearance."

"I can't believe it's almost time," Carla reflected. "It seems like yesterday I was freaking out, that positive pregnancy test in my hand, and now… now I'm about to meet my son. My son, Peter. Do you know how insane that is?"

"It's a big moment."

"It's terrifying more like," she cried. "Terrifying and exciting and overwhelming all at once."

"They're all very natural emotions."

"Are they?" she asked. "Sometimes I wonder what the hell was I thinking going through with this pregnancy. Believing that me, Carla Connor, could be anything resembling a good mother. Me? A mother? Ha! That's a concept I never imagined would become a reality. Never wanted to become a reality. But then, when I feel him kicking away, moving around in there, I couldn't imagine my life without him. Now that's crazy innit, I haven't even met him yet and he's the most important person in my life."

"Sounds like a mother talking to me," Peter said in a hoarse whisper as he looked into Carla's eyes. "A good mother, the best."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

He reached out and gently brushed Carla's hair away from her face, just like Carla had done earlier, but this time with care, and with love.

"Look at you," he said. "You've become a right little DIY queen."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"I wish that were true."

"It is," she said. "If you want it to be."

His hand resting on her shoulder now, his fingers extended behind her neck, he drew her in towards him and kissed her.

* * *

"Sshhhh!" Leanne hissed at Nick as she ushered him into the dimly lit living room of the flat. "Si's only just gone off to sleep."

"I've missed you," he whispered, grabbing her by the waist and drawing her into him.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Hmm mmm..." he murmured, kissing her softly. "You said you missed me too."

"Well, yes, I did miss you, but–"

Nick cut off her protestations with another kiss. This time she relented completely and relaxed in his arms, giving herself up to the electricity passing between them, forgetting everything else except what she was feeling in that moment, forgetting entirely the small boy who was that moment asleep in his bed a few feet away. Or so she had thought.

Simon padded out of his bedroom and into the living room, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes with the back of his chubby little paw. He stood there in the dark until his eyes became accustomed to the dim light and he could clearly make out what he was seeing. When he did, he darted back behind the wall and, peeking out from his hiding place, watched the scene unfold before him.

* * *

Carla sighed gently as her and Peter's kiss intensified, their tongues seeking entry into the others mouth as their lips pressed together, and their hands wandered, touching, caressing, exploring.

"No, no," Carla muttered, turning her face away from Peter's. "Stop," she moaned, moving her hands to his chest and pushing him away with the flats of her palms.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Peter!" Carla gasped. "I'm pregnant"

"It wasn't me."

Carla snorted, an instinctive outburst, a release of tension that filled the room with the sound of her laughter.

"Stop it!" she playfully chastised him. "I'm having another man's baby, Peter. Does that not bother you?"

"Does it bother you that you're not Simon's mum?"

"Of course not."

"Well then," Peter shrugged, silently pleading with Carla, looking deep into her eyes. "What's the problem?"

"I can't take any risks with men, not now I've got a son to think of."

"Come on, Carla. You must know how I feel about you."

"Not if you don't tell me, I don't. I'm not a mind reader, Peter."

"I love you."

"You…?" Carla couldn't quite believe her ears, that what she had wanted to hear from Peter's lips was finally being spoken with honesty and sincerity.

"I. Love. You." Peter repeated his declaration. "And yes, it took a long time to admit it, even to myself, but I think I've always loved you in some way. We've always been connected, you and me, from that very first moment you walked into my AA meeting that day. Do you remember?"

"That's over a year ago now," Carla reflected thoughtfully. "So much has changed since then."

"Some things have changed," Peter conceded. "I think some things have changed for the better. On the whole."

"You think?" Carla asked. "Your family is in tatters, you're back living with your dad, you're spending your weekend building flat pack furniture with a woman who's carrying another man's baby."

"Like I said, changes for the better. There is one thing that I hope, no, that I pray hasn't changed."

"What's that?"

"How you feel about me. Last year you told me you loved me. Now I'm telling you that I love you. Tell me I'm not too late. Please, Carla, don't tell me those feelings have gone forever."

Carla didn't answer with words; instead, she reached out and, cupping Peter's face gently between the palms of her hands, kissed him again, this time not pulling away from him, any lingering doubts completely wiped from her mind and from her heart.


	36. Week 36: Jealousy

**Week 36: Jealousy**

"Can I have, umm…" Simon sat thoughtful, peering at the menu, as Roy Cropper stood poised beside the table, pen and notepad in hand, ready to take his order. "Beans on toast."

"Please," Peter prompted his son.

"Please," Simon parroted his father. "And a sausage!" he added. "_Please_."

"Very well, young man," Roy nodded his acknowledgement. "I shall see to it straight away."

"Thanks, Roy," Carla said, before turning her gaze back on Simon with a broad smile.

Simon looked across firstly at Carla and then at his dad who was sitting next to her, the same broad smile on his face, both of which had the effect of making him very uncomfortable.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, immediately defensive.

"No," Peter shook his head. "Why? Have you done summat?"

"No!" The denial burst out of Simon's mouth, even as he racked his brain for anything he could possibly have done wrong in the last few days. But nothing sprang to his mind. So why were his dad and Carla looking at him like that, he wondered. "You're looking at me funny," he stated matter-of-fact.

"Am I?" Peter asked innocently.

"You both are," Simon said. "What's going on?"

"Well," Peter began, exchanging a nervous glance with Carla before continuing. "We, me and Carla–"

"That's me," Carla raised her hand in the air awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Me and Carla," Peter continued hesitantly. "We've got some news. Some good news. It's good news," he said, turning to Carla as if for confirmation.

"Very good news," Carla nodded her approval.

"Which is?" Simon rolled his eyes, beginning to lose patience with his dad's fumbling.

"We… Carla and me, well… we, that is, Carla, is my girlfriend now."

"Oh," Simon shrugged, seemingly indifferent to their bombshell. "Okay."

"Okay?" Peter pressed him further. "Okay, as in…?"

"About time?"

Peter and Carla turned to each other and laughed, the relief of Simon's casual acceptance of their relationship a weight off their minds.

"You really don't mind?"

"No, Carla's cool," Simon said, flashing a cheeky grin at the woman in question. "I like her."

"Aww, Si," Carla grinned back at him. "I like you, too."

"Si," Peter pressed on solemnly, determined to be sure of his son's acceptance. "You do realise this means there's absolutely no chance of me and your mum getting back together?"

"I know, dad, you've told me that like a million gazillion times before."

"I just wanted to make sure," Peter said. "That you're happy about me and Carla. You can tell me if you're not, Si. Your happiness is just as important to me as ours is."

"I'm happy!" Simon insisted, somewhat snappishly, before dropping his gaze and mumbling, "It don't matter anyway."

"What doesn't matter, Si?" Carla asked him kindly.

"Nothing."

"Si," Peter refused to let it drop. "If you've got summat to say, just say it, please."

"I said it don't matter what you two do, cause mum's with Nick now!"

"What?" Peter cried, aghast at Simon's disclosure.

"What makes you say that, Si?" Carla gently pressed him. "Has your mum said something?"

"No," Simon shook his head. "I saw them. I saw them kissing. Last weekend. They thought I was in bed, but I saw everything."

"You mean, Nick came to the flat while you were there?"

"Uh huh," Simon nodded. "And he didn't leave until the next morning."

"She snuck him into our bedroom while you were there?" Peter asked in horror at the thought. "The nerve of that woman!"

"Peter," Carla placed her hand gently on Peter's arm. "Calm down, hmm?"

"I will not calm down!" Peter protested. "How can she do this? She's making a mockery of everything!"

"Not in front of Si!" Carla hissed at him.

"You're right," Peter said. "We need to have this out face-to-face."

"Peter!" Carla called out to him as he stood up, kicking his chair out from beneath him with such force that it skidded into the wall behind him and toppled over with a crash. "Peter! Where are you going?"

But Peter did not respond; indeed, he didn't even hear her, so focused was he on his new mission.

* * *

_Bzzzzz Bzzzzz Bzzzzz  
__BZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZZ  
__BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ!_

"What?" Leanne barked through the intercom, her voice bursting out angrily onto the street, where Peter was standing, impatiently stabbing at the doorbell with. his finger.

"Let me in, Lea," he demanded.

"Peter? What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you. Now."

"I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"That's what I wanna talk to you about. Now let me in, or I'll break the door down."

_Bzzzz_

Peter pushed open the door and ran up the stairs, the adrenalin still coursing through his body as he prepared to confront his wife over her lover.

"Where's lover boy, hmm?" he asked as he entered the living room where Leanne was standing, alone. "From what I hear, you can't go one night without him in your bed."

"He's right here."

Peter spun around to see Nick emerging from the bathroom, wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts, his hair still wet from the shower.

"Making yourself at home, I see," he sneered. "Didn't take you long to make your move."

"I don't see what it's got to do with you," Nick shrugged dismissively.

"She's my wife."

"You finished with her."

"Yeah, I did, because of you!"

"Well then," Nick threw his hands into the air. "You shouldn't be surprised that we're together now."

"You smarmy git, you–"

"Just because you were stupid enough to let her go, doesn't mean that a smarter, better man can't see her value."

"You–" Peter launched himself at Nick, tackling him, his head down and his arms out, forcing him hard against the wall.

"Peter!" Leanne cried, grabbing onto him and dragging him away from Nick. "Stop it!"

"He deserves it!"

"He's done nothing wrong, Peter! Nothing, unless you count falling in love as some sort of crime."

"Love?" Peter decried. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

Peter stared at Leanne in disgust as she stood in solidarity next to Nick and then, without a parting word, stormed out of the flat, slamming the front door with such force that it shook on its hinges.

* * *

"Am I in trouble?" Simon asked Carla as they sat in Roys where Peter had left them without so much as a by your leave.

"Oh, Si, no," Carla tousled his curls affectionately. "No, you've done nothing wrong, don't worry about it."

"Have I got mum in trouble?"

"Like I said, it's nothing for you to worry about. You know your dad, he can get a bit…"

"Grumpy?" Simon suggested, a cheeky glint in his deep brown eyes.

"Yeah," Carla laughed. "Once he's blown off a bit of steam, he'll be fine. And I know he'll feel awful if he thinks he's made you worry. So, try not to worry, okay?"

"Okay," Simon nodded.

"Good lad," Carla smiled. "Oh, look, your grandad's here. Ken! Over here!"

"Carla," Ken nodded to her in greeting. "Hello, Simon."

"Hi, grandad," Simon said, cheerful now that his grandad had arrived. "Dad and Carla took me out for breakfast."

"Your dad…?" Ken queried, looking about as if he expected to see Peter jump out from a well-chosen hiding place.

"Si," Carla said. "Why don't you go to the counter and choose yourself a cake to take home for later."

Simon didn't need to be told twice; he jumped to his feet and raced to the counter to peruse Roy's cake offerings.

"Carla?" Ken turned to her, his face creased with worry. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"Sit down," Carla instructed him, sighing deeply before continuing. "It's Peter, he's gone off in a mood."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Simon told us that Nick stayed the night with Leanne last weekend."

"Oh, I see."

"And Peter didn't take it too well."

"It's bound to bring up some painful memories for him," Ken conceded.

"Well, yes, but all that, it's in the past. Isn't it?"

"Is that what's bothering you? You think it might not be in the past for Peter?"

"For him to fly off the handle the way he did, Ken, it makes me think that, I dunno, that maybe he hasn't totally given up on the marriage."

"But I thought you and him…"

"So did I!" Carla cried. "But I'm not sticking around, waiting to find out if he's still hung up on Leanne. No way!"

"I'm sure he's not, Carla. You know, this past week since you and him got together, I haven't seen him so happy since… I can't remember a time when he was happier. That's because of you. Go find him, talk to him. And trust me, everything will be fine."

* * *

"Nick!" Carla called out, striding towards where Nick had obviously just emerged from the bookie's flat.

"Oh, Carla," Nick stammered, his guilty conscience about his relationship with Leanne, while not bothering him when it came to Peter, troubled him when he thought about Carla, when he looked at Carla and saw the precious cargo she was carrying in her belly. "I was, umm…"

"Relax, Nick, I know about you and Leanne."

"You do?"

"I know, and I don't care," Carla insisted. "Honestly, as long as you're happy."

"Really?"

"I don't begrudge you a relationship, Nick, why would I?"

"That's very generous of you."

"Listen, you haven't seen Peter on your travels, have you?"

"Not for a while, thank goodness."

"You mean…?"

"He came round earlier, talking with his fists as per."

"Oh, Peter," Carla sighed. "I was worried he'd do summat stupid like that."

"You know Peter," Nick shrugged.

"There's summat you should know about Peter," Carla began hesitantly. "We, umm… oh boy, there he is."

"Where?"

"Heading into the Rovers. Look, Nick, I better go."

"What were you gonna tell me?"

"I'll, umm, I'll call you later, yeah?"

Carla didn't wait for an answer from Nick as she hurried to follow Peter into the Rovers.

"Yes, Peter," Tina asked expectantly from where she was serving behind the bar. "What can I get you?"

Peter looked across at Carla who, even though she was not saying a word, Peter could understand as clearly as if she was shouting at him.

"Orange juice," he placed his order gruffly, before turning back to Carla. "I wasn't going to have a drink."

"Good."

"Carla?"

"Nothing for me, thanks, Tina," Carla smiled at the barmaid. "Where have you been?" she whispered to Peter. "Nick said you left the flat ages ago."

"So you know everything?" Peter said, the corner of his lip curling up with contempt at the thought of Nick and Carla talking about him. "I've been walking, if you must know."

"Walking where? And why?"

"I had to calm myself down somehow, didn't I? After that pair wound me right up."

"Peter, I don't understand–"

"One orange juice, that's one-fifty, ta."

"Why does it bother you so much, hmm?" Carla continued. "You and me, we moved on with each other, why can't they?"

"The difference, Carla," Peter hissed through gritted teeth. "Is that we weren't carrying on behind their backs. This just proves she wanted him all along, and that I was, what was I to her? Nothing!"

"It means you were the wrong man for her, just like she was the wrong woman for you."

"You should've heard what Nick was saying."

"Why? What was he saying?"

"He was smug and… pompous, gloating about how he'd won Leanne."

"_Won_ Leanne? Peter, I–"

"Don't you care that the father of your baby is shacked up with the woman he cheated on you with? How long did it take him, hmm? How many days after you dumped him did he crawl into her bed?"

"Don't you think that proves I did the right thing in dumping him?"

"But–"

"I'm getting the feeling that you don't feel the same way about Leanne. That maybe you think dumping her was a mistake."

"No."

"That maybe you want her back."

"I don't."

"Then why is this such a big deal for you?"

"Because she's my wife!" Peter snapped.

"I've had enough of this," Carla said. "If you want to obsess over your ex, or your wife as you so fondly call her, you can do it on your own."

Carla turned and left the pub with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the multitude of eyes that were watching her after witnessing her and Peter's whispered but still very public argument.

On reaching the fresh air on the street, Carla slumped against the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. "Oh, no," she groaned as Peter came storming out after her.

"So much for expecting some support from my girlfriend," Peter said, rounding on her angrily.

"Support? For what? Going on a jealous tirade over your ex?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Are you sure, Peter? Because it looks like it to me. I'll tell you one thing, Peter, I'm not risking my future, our future," she added, her hand resting on her bump. "I'm not taking that risk on someone who's not fully committed."

"What are you saying? Do you want us to split up?"

"You tell me, Peter. Because you seem to be more concerned with what your ex is up to and not with us, not me. You think about it and you let me know what you want. But you do not mess me around, you do not mess my son around."

* * *

Peter shuffled forlornly into the kitchen of his father's house, the lonely echo of the otherwise empty house further dampening his mood.

Snatching up the piece of paper left propped on the table, he read the handwritten message: _Deirdre and I have taken Simon to the Red Rec, Dad_

Peter looked about the room, searching for something to do, something to take his mind off what Carla had said, the ultimatum she had given him.

Carla. Carla was the answer.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and made the call.

"_This is Carla Connor, leave a message and I'll get back to you."_

Peter ended the call; he wanted to speak to Carla, not her message service.

And so, he paced the room, up and down he walked, growing more agitated by the second. The next time he called, he left a message.

"_I am not jealous because Nick and Leanne are together, okay? I love you. That doesn't mean I can't be angry. I still don't know if that baby she lost was mine or not. Am I not allowed to angry about that? Tell me, Carla, am I allowed to be angry?"_

The moment Peter ended the call, he regretted the message he had left. So, he called again.

"_I'm sorry, baby. It's not your fault, I'm not angry with you. I'm just… I'm sorry. Please call me… I love you."_

Peter started pacing again, his mind whirring as he fixated over the messages he had left, what Carla was thinking, what Carla was planning. What if she did decide to dump him, he thought, fear gripping his heart. He had to see her, he had to make her understand that he loved her and her only.

* * *

"_I'm sorry, baby. It's not your fault, I'm not angry with you. I'm just… I'm sorry. Please call me… I love you."_

Carla played Peter's message again as she sat in her office in the silence of the empty factory, smiling to herself at those last three words he had spoken: _I love you_. Even so, Carla was not ready to see him, to hear his explanations. The fact was, she was tired, she was so tired. All she wanted right now was some space, space to think, and to breathe.

_Bang bang bang!_

"Carla!" Peter's voice, although muffled through the factory door, could still be heard loud and clear. "Are you in there? Carla!"

"Oh, Peter," Carla whispered with a weary sigh. "Go away, please."

"Carla!" Peter wasn't giving up so easily.

"…_I'm sorry. Please call me… I love you."_

"Carla!"

"Peter!" Carla cried, rising from her seat with such haste to get to Peter, that bright stars burst across her vision that had temporarily gone black as a sudden dizzy spell hit her. She clutched at the edge of her desk to stop herself from falling to the floor, her head dropping to her chest as she tried desperately to reorientate herself.

And that's when she felt it; the searing pain in her abdomen as a cramp took hold of her, a cramp that was unlike any she'd felt before in its span and its intensity.

"Peter!" she gasped between breaths that were at once short pants interspersed between long guttural moans. "Peter."

* * *

Peter rested his head against the factory door, giving up the search in despair. Carla had either gone home, or she was ignoring him. The latter was more likely, or so he thought.

With a sigh, he turned away from the factory and trudged across the cobbles, back to Number one, determined to give Carla some space to calm down before he tried talking to her again.


	37. Week 37: Born on this day

**Week 37: Born on this day**

"Upstairs, Simon," Ken ordered his grandson as he pushed open the front door. "Get out of those muddy clothes."

"But grandad," Simon began to whine, quite oblivious to the mud stains on his jeans and his coat that he had acquired during a kick-around in the park.

"Now."

With a disgruntled sigh and an overt "ugh!" to express his feelings of extreme persecution, Simon trudged upstairs, his feet pounding heavily on each step.

"Hello, Peter?" Ken called out. "Anyone home? He'll be with Carla," he observed to Deirdre who pushed past him and into the kitchen, immediately switching on the kettle.

"It's about time they sorted themselves out," Deirdre said. "He can't expect us to drop everything to look after Simon each time Carla has a new drama. He'll never be home, not now he's got himself entangled with that one."

"Hmm…" Ken ruminated. "It's a little more complicated than that, Deirdre."

"Don't just stand there, Ken," Deirdre commanded, not in the mood to speculate on the latest gossip about Carla or anyone for that matter. "Make yourself useful and get the washing in. I've got to get the tea on."

"What did you say?"

"Washing!"

"Oh, right."

Ken obediently picked up the washing basket and, nudging open the back door, stepped into the yard to carry out his household chores.

"Alright, dad."

"Peter!" Ken gasped, surprised to see his son leaning up against the wall, his usual cigarette in hand. "When did you get back?"

"Dunno," Peter shrugged absently.

"Did Carla find you?"

"Carla?" Peter looked up keenly at the mention of Carla's name.

"Yes, I spoke to her when she dropped Simon off. She wanted to talk to you about–"

"Leanne," Peter snapped. "Yes, I know."

"So…?"

"She found me."

"And you talked things through?"

"Not really, no," Peter said with a sigh. "I might've, umm… kicked off a bit."

"Oh, Peter."

"Dad, it's fine. I've left her a message, I've apologised."

"And that's it?"

"I'm giving her space," Peter said. "What else can I do?"

"Peter," Deirdre said, opening the back door and leaning out into the yard, Peter's ringing phone in her hand. "It's Carla."

Peter looked at the phone Deirdre held out for him, but ignored it, choosing instead to take another leisurely drag on his cigarette.

"Leave it," he said dismissively. "It'll stop soon enough. See?" he sniffed as the phone fell silent, only for a moment though as it immediately began to ring again.

"Peter," Ken hissed at his son. "Are you going to answer it?"

"I'm giving her space," Peter remained stubborn.

"Fine," Deirdre said. "I'll answer it, shall I? Hello, Carla, it's Deirdre– you what? … When did they start? … Have you called an ambulance? … Don't panic–"

"Ambulance?" Peter asked. "Give that here. Carla," he said, snatching the phone off Deirdre. "What's wrong? … I'll be right there. Hold on, baby, I'm coming."

* * *

Peter pulled frantically at the factory door, and then pushed, to no avail; it was locked and it was not budging.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! _he pounded on the door.

"Carla!" he called out her name.

He pressed his ear up against the door, but heard nothing. And so he ran the short distance to Number 8 and knocked sharply on the front door.

"Alright!" David barked as he opened the door. "Keep your shirt on."

"Where's Nick?" Peter demanded.

"Not here, now do one."

"Where is he? It's important."

"Peter?" Kylie asked, appearing behind her husband. "What's up?"

"I need to find Nick. I need to get into the factory."

"Where's Carla?"

"She's in there, she's having contractions but, I dunno, she can't get to the door, I don't know, I–"

"It's okay," Kylie reassured him. "I've got keys. Hold on."

It felt like an age to Peter that he waited for Kylie to retrieve the set of spare factory keys that Carla had entrusted to her but, in reality, it was less than a minute before he was following Kylie as she sprinted across the factory forecourt, keys in hand.

"Carla!" Peter cried out, pushing open the factory door the moment Kylie had twisted the key in the lock. "Carla!"

"Peter."

Peter followed the sound of Carla's plaintive cry across the sewing room and into the office where he found her, on her knees on the floor, her body bent over, her breathing laboured.

"Oh, baby," he said, rushing to her and dropping to his knees next to her, rubbed her back gently. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay."

"Hospital," Carla groaned.

"Oh my god!" Kylie gasped as she ran into the office, followed closely by David. "Carla!"

"David," Peter said, rummaging in his pocket and digging out his keys. "My car's parked by the bookies. Bring it round front. Kylie," he continued as soon as David had left on his mission. "Help me get her up."

"I can't," Carla sobbed. "It hurts."

"Well, suck it up, girlfriend," Kylie said. "Unless you wanna have this baby right here on the floor, you gotta get your ass into gear and get moving."

"Since when did you get so bossy?" Carla asked, unable to keep a small smile from playing on her lips, despite the pain she was feeling.

"Since I started working for you," Kylie replied with a smirk. "Now are we going or what?"

With Kylie and Peter supporting her, one on each side, Carla rose to her feet and stepped gingerly, one foot after the other, out of the office.

"Ky," Carla whispered to the woman supporting her left arm.

"Yeah, babe?"

"It feels like I've peed my pants," she revealed, mortified at the admission. "Is that…?"

"Your waters breaking? Yeah."

* * *

"Find Nick," Peter delegated one final task to Kylie as he sat in the driver's seat of the car, the engine idling, while Carla lay sprawled on the back seat. "Tell him what's happened."

"I don't know where he is," Kylie shrugged. "He's not working today, so…"

"Try Leanne's flat."

"Leanne?"

"Trust me, he'll be there."

"Okay," Kylie nodded before glancing at Carla. "Good luck, boss."

Carla gave her a weak smiled as Peter pressed his foot down gently onto the accelerator, easing the car slowly over the cobbles, careful not to jolt the precious cargo he was carrying in the back.

"You alright there, love?" he asked, peering anxiously at Carla in the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," Carla nodded. "Actually, Peter, I'm a little bit scared."

"I know, love, but trust me, everything is gonna be just fine."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

_Bzzzzz Bzzzzz Bzzzzz_

"Come on," Kylie muttered to herself as she stood at the front door to Leanne's flat, impatiently stabbing at the doorbell. "Answer the damn door!"

"Ignore it," Nick urged Leanne, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her body close to him as they lay together, snuggled up, in Leanne and Peter's marital bed.

But–"

"It's probably just Peter, back to have another go at us."

"Hmm… you're probably right."

"Trust me," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I'm always right."

_Tap_

"What was that?" Leanne asked, abruptly moving her face away from Nick's to peer around at the bedroom door.

"It's nothing," Nick said, kissing her again, on the neck this time, nuzzling into her.

_Tap_

_Tap_

"What the hell?"

"Lea!" Nick called after Leanne as she jumped out of bed and, quickly wrapping a robe around her, hurried into the living room.

_Tap_

Something small and dark outside the window flew through her peripheral vision. Rushing to the window, she opened it and, leaning out, peered down into the street.

"What are you playing at?" she yelled down to Kylie who was standing, a handful of pebbles clutched in one hand, a single one ready to fire in the other.

"I'm after Nick."

"What makes you think he'd be here?"

"Stop playing the innocent, Leanne, it doesn't suit ya. Carla's in labour, so if Nick wants to see his son born, he better get down to the hospital quick smart."

"What did you say?" Nick appeared next to Leanne, his bare chest telling Kylie everything she needed to know.

"You are so tacky." Kylie sneered.

"Kylie!"

"The baby's on its way, Nick, you're about to become a dad."

* * *

"Can I get some help!?" Peter called out as he pulled up in front of A&E. "Hey! Get a doctor, she's in labour."

Peter rushed to open the car's back door as a uniformed hospital worker approached with a wheelchair.

"Almost there, love," Peter said as he helped Carla out of the car and into the wheelchair. "I'll be in soon."

"Peter, no!" Carla protested. "Don't leave me."

"I have to park the car, baby," he explained, his voice soft and gentle. "You'll be fine. I'll be there before you know it."

"With tears in her eyes, Carla allowed herself to be wheeled away, watching as Peter jumped back into the car and speed away in search of a parking space, all the while chastising herself for her weakness in not wanting to be alone, not even for five minutes.

* * *

"Carla Connor," Peter gasped to the nurse manning the reception counter of the maternity department, breathless after his mad dash from the parking lot and down corridor after endless corridor in his search for Carla. "I just brought her in. I'm her partner."

Peter felt he could burst with pride at the feeling that overcame him as he referred to himself as Carla's partner, forcing himself to remain calm as the nurse checked the list of patients.

"Carla Connor," he said, his finger pausing on the relevant entry. "Room three-one-five, down the end of this corridor," he pointed the way, "and to your left."

"Thank you," Peter said, immediately taking off once more, not stopping until he had entered room three-one-five.

"Peter!" Carla cried out in relief from where she was reclining on the bed. "You made it."

"I was just parking the car, silly," he reassured her, kissing her forehead softly and gripping her hand in his.

"This is Naomi," Carla said, nodding to the woman stood opposite Peter. "She's my midwife. Naomi, this is Peter."

"Pleased to meet you," Peter said, reaching out and briefly gripping the woman's extended hand.

"And you," Naomi said. "I was just explaining to Carla that she's dilated six centimetres."

"Which means?"

"Which means she's in active labour, her contractions are about three minutes apart–"

"I think one's coming now, argh!" Carla grimaced as she breathed through the contraction. "Go on, Naomi, I'm fine."

"I was about to say, now's the time for an epidural, if you wanted it. I know you have it down in your birth plan that you wanted one, do you still feel the same?"

"Yes!" Carla cried out. "Yes, please, as quick as you can."

"Alright," Naomi smiled. "I'll go organise that now. Won't be long."

"Thank you," Carla said, turning her gaze up to Peter as Naomi hurried out of the room. "I'm so glad you're here, Peter. I'm sorry about before, about our argument."

"Hey," he stopped her. "You've got nothing to apologise for. That was all my fault, all my ego's fault."

"A bit bruised, was it?"

"A little bit, yeah," Peter smiled ruefully. "I forgot for a moment what was really important."

"What's that? Ahhh!"

"Another contraction?"

"Yeah," Carla nodded, gasping between pants. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What's really important?"

"You, you daft apeth," he said, reinforcing his point with a quick peck.

"Just checking," Carla grinned back at him. "Oh my god, Peter!"

"What?"

"Nick. Where's Nick?"

"He'll be here soon, I'm sure," Peter said, stroking her hair softly. "Kylie went to find him, remember?"

* * *

"I don't know why you all had to come," Nick said as he strode down the hospital corridor, flanked by Leanne, Gail, David and Kylie. "It could be well into tomorrow before the baby arrives, maybe the day after, who knows."

"Yes, well," Gail reasoned with him. "Whatever happens, whenever he arrives, I – we, we'd all like to be here. We're family, remember, Nick. And family sticks together."

"I guess if you're happy to wait?" Nick shrugged, stopping to address the nurse at reception. "Carla Connor?"

"We are, although I don't know what _she's_ doing here," Gail said, casting an askance glance in Leanne's direction.

"Who's she?" Leanne snarled.

"She's not even family."

"Room three-one-five, to the end and to the left."

"Actually," Leanne took great delight in her revelation. "I'm Nick's girlfriend."

"Since when?"

"Thank you," Nick smiled awkwardly at the nurse before hissing at his mother, "Leanne's my girlfriend, mum. She has every right to be here, more importantly, I want her here, so can you please shut up!"

"Well!" Gail said, taken aback; to no effect, as Nick had already stalked off in the direction the nurse had indicated, Leanne by his side, contenting herself by whispering to David, "I don't know why he's got involved with her again, she's trouble. She'll just hurt him again."

"Zip it, Gail," David sneered. "It's his life, leave him to it."

"But–"

"Unless you want to get booted from the birth of your grandson?"

"Hmm," Gail capitulated with a deep sigh, sinking into a chair in the waiting area as Nick entered room three-one-five alone.

* * *

"Nick!" Carla cried as Nick pushed open the door. "Thank goodness Kylie found you."

"Like I was going to miss this," he said, approaching her tentatively, keenly aware of Peter's presence in the room. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, everything's fine, normal even, isn't it, Peter?"

"She's doing fantastic," Peter said, smiling affectionately down at Carla. "Six centimetres dilated."

"Six? Wow," Nick said, his eyes narrowing as he glanced from Peter to Carla. "Thank you, Peter, I take it you brought Carla in?"

"That's right."

"Like I said, thanks but, umm… I think I can take things from here."

"Actually, Nick, argh, another one…"

"That's less than three minutes now," Peter observed excitedly.

"It's going quicker than I thought," Carla gasped. "They better hurry up with that epidural, there's no way I'm doing this naturally."

"Maybe Peter can check before he goes?" Nick suggested.

"No," Carla shook her head. "I want Peter to stay."

"And why would you want that?" Nick asked, his voice suddenly cold and detached.

"Because…" Carla glanced up at Peter, who smiled down at her, giving her the strength to continue. "Because Peter's my boyfriend."

"You've got to be joking," Nick shook his head in disgust, turning on Peter. "After you had a go at me and Leanne? All the while you two are carrying on?"

"We're not carrying on," Peter was defiant. "We love each other. This is for real, it's for keeps."

"You're a hypocrite," Nick sneered at him. "I don't care what you two do outside here, I don't want you in here when my son is born."

"Nick!" Carla cried. "_I_ want him here."

"Okay, then," Nick shrugged. "In that case, I'll go and get Leanne and bring her in. Is that alright?"

"Don't you dare."

"What's the difference?" Nick asked. "She's my girlfriend, he's your boyfriend."

"I don't want her in here."

"Listen," Peter interjected. "Why don't I give you two some space."

"Bye then," Nick said with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't let him chase you away," Carla begged. "Please, Peter, I need you."

"I'm not going, I'll just be out in the waiting room," Peter promised her. "Give you two a chance to, I dunno, experience this together. Love, he is the father."

"You'll come back in when it's time?"

"Of course," he said, kissing her forehead tenderly before retreating from the room, leaving the parents-to-be on their own.

"I see your taste in men has gone downhill since you finished with me," Nick sneered.

"Not the time, Nick."

"Sorry, but Carla, you have to admit– are you okay?"

"I'm having a contraction!" she snapped. "What do you think?"

"Just, breathe through it, like we learned in our class. Remember, breathe in… and out…"

Carla breathed in and out, just like Nick was showing her, until the contraction had passed.

"Thanks," she smiled at him gratefully. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

* * *

"How's Carla?" Kylie asked as Peter sunk down into one in a row of sterile plastic chairs flanking the waiting area. "Is everything…?"

"Fine," Peter muttered, before taking note of the anxious faces peering at him. "Really, she's fine, she's doing fantastic."

"We're all very grateful for that," Gail said. "Considering everything."

"Considering what?" Kylie asked in confusion.

"Oh, you know, the fact that the baby's early and that Carla must've been under considerable stress for that to happen."

"Why are you looking at me when you say that?" Leanne asked.

"No reason," Gail shrugged innocently.

"If you've got summat to say to me."

"I just think it's a little hypocritical of you, the person who's caused Carla all sorts of stress, to be sat here pretending to be concerned for her."

"Since when was Carla stressed? Carla's not stressed."

"How would you know? You're too busy luring my son into bed!"

"I'd watch what you say, Gail," Leanne sneered. "Do you really think Nick would choose you over me?"

"I'm his mother!"

"Yeah, and I'm his girlfriend."

"Enough!" Peter cried. "Stop this! You should hear yourselves. You're all pathetic! If you can't support Carla and Nick without all this petty bickering then you need to leave. Hmm?" Peter glared at Gail and Leanne, silently daring them to leave. "What's it gonna be?"

* * *

"Anyone for coffee? Tea?" Peter asked, rising to his feet and shaking his legs a little, stiff as they were from sitting inactive for so long.

"Oh, thank you," Gail said gratefully. "Tea for me, please."

"Coffee," Kylie said.

"Same," added David.

"Lea?" Peter asked kindly, looking down at his estranged wife. "Can I get you summat?"

"Coffee, ta," she replied. "Why don't I come help you carry em."

"Thanks."

"Listen, Peter," Leanne began hesitantly as they walked together to the nearby vending machine. "I'm sorry about Nick. How you found out about him and me. I should've been upfront with you, it was inexcusable of me."

"It's fine," he waved off her apology. "Don't mention it."

"Really? Why the change of heart?"

"I, umm… I overreacted. The fact is, we're not together anymore, so…" he shrugged. "You've got every right to be with someone else and I've got no say in who or when. I mean, like Carla pointed out, it just proves that you and me, we weren't right for each other. So, if you can find the right bloke for you, then I should be happy for you."

"Carla?"

"What about Carla?"

"You talked about you and me with Carla?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because…" Peter took a deep breath before continuing. "The thing is, me and Carla, we're together. A couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Yes!" Leanne snapped. "I get the picture, no need to keep going on about it. Since when?"

"Not long."

"Obviously before you had a go at me about Nick, hmm?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe you stood there lecturing me about Nick when you were doing exactly the same thing with Carla. You're a hypocrite, Peter. You're a stinking hypocrite."

"Lea," Peter said. "I'm sorry."

"Go to hell, Peter," Leanne sneered, glaring at him one last time before turning on her heel and stalking back to the waiting area.

"Leanne!" Peter called after her. "At least help me carry the drinks back."

* * *

Peter absently tore at his long since empty paper coffee cup as he sat, slumped in the rigid and unyielding chair, the clock on the wall ticking away the seconds as the group that was gathered in the waiting area sat in silence, waiting impatiently for news.

"Peter Barlow?"

"Yes, that's me," Peter said, sitting upright in his seat and staring anxiously at the nurse who had just entered the waiting area. "Is Carla…?"

"She's asking for you," the nurse said. "If you'd like to come with me?"

"What about me?" Gail interjected. "I am that baby's grandmother."

"And me," Leanne added. "If Peter's allowed in, then so should I."

"Carla's asked for Peter only," the nurse said, polite but firm. "If you'll excuse me."

"How is she?" he asked the nurse as they walked together the short distance to room three-one-five.

"Why don't you see for yourself?"

Peter walked in through the door the nurse held open for him, his eyes immediately drawn to where Carla was propped up on the bed, her face flushed and covered in a layer of sweat, tendrils of hair plastered to her forehead.

"Peter!" she gasped, reaching her hand out to him.

"Hey, baby," Peter hurried to her, taking her hand in his and kissing her softly on her forehead. "Having fun yet?"

Carla's laughter turned to a grimace as another contraction hit. "That's a strong one," she panted. "Can I push? I wanna push."

"Not yet," Naomi said as she and the nurse examined Carla once again.

"Oh, come on," Carla pleaded.

"You're almost there, let me see… yes, next contraction, you're good to go."

"Really?"

"Really," Naomi nodded, smiling at Carla. "You're fully dilated."

"About time!" Carla cried, as her contraction eased and she relaxed, conserving her energy for the next one. "I'm not what you'd call a patient person, if you hadn't noticed."

"Tell me about it," Nick joked.

"Oi, you," Carla whacked him playfully. "Enough of that."

"So, Nick," Peter said. "You're about to become a dad. How does it feel?"

"I honestly don't know," he shook his head in disbelief. "It still seems so unreal."

"Hold that thought, Tilsley," Carla said as her face contorted yet again with the onset of another contraction. "I think you're about to find out."

Carla couldn't later remember how long it took for her son to be born; at once it felt both a lifetime that she was pushing, and also the blink of the eye. All the pain and the trauma inflicted on her body as he was delivered was nothing to her, a mere inconvenience in the greater joy of welcoming her son to the world.

And, as for Nick and Peter, they put their differences aside for Carla's sake and joined together to support her, to encourage her, and to celebrate with her, when finally, that tiny little body, that precious little boy, naked as he had come into the world, was placed on Carla's chest, a blanket draped over him to keep him nice and cosy, his head nuzzled between her breasts.

"Hello, little man," Nick cooed as he tentatively placed his hand on the baby's head.

"Does dad want to clamp the umbilical cord?" Naomi asked.

"Go on," Carla urged him, her voice catching in her throat, the emotion of meeting her son for the first time almost overwhelming her.

"Hey, mama," Peter whispered to her, leaning in close and kissing her softly, his hands raking gently through her hair. "Congratulations."

"Look at him," Carla said as she stared down at her little boy, who had found his voice and was squawking in protest at his strange new surroundings, his arms flailing as he gripped onto whatever he could of his mama, comforted by the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart, and that familiarity of her that he had come to know so intimately over the past thirty-seven weeks; he was a part of her and she a part of him. "He's perfect."


	38. Week 38: Lullaby

**Week 38: Lullaby**

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,  
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird–"

Carla's voice broke as she stared down at the baby in her arms, her son, her only son, Jesse. She leaned down and kissed his head, with its covering of soft downy hair, lingering some time, breathing in the smell of him, before continuing with the lullaby.

"And if that mockingbird won't sing,  
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.  
And if that diamond ring turns to brass,  
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass.  
And if that looking glass gets broke–"

Tracing her finger along his cheek, she marvelled at him, at all of his body parts so perfectly formed and fitted together, miniature versions of her own; tiny little nails on the ends of tiny little fingers, attached to tiny little fists, and chubby little arms. It was all so perfect.

"Sleep, my angel," she whispered. "Sleep soundly, my boy."

_Carla padded down the hallway, alert, her eyes darting here and there in the dim light, as if by doing so she could catch sight of the spirits that she imagined wandered the mortal world during the witching hour. It was a time of night that Jesse, in the week he had been home with her, had seemed to revel in being most active, keeping her awake into the small hours as she sat by his cot, calming him, soothing him, watching him sleep._

_But tonight he was calm and the silence seemed almost to echo off the walls, a supernatural being in its own right. The only sound Carla heard was the faint snoring coming from the spare bedroom where Nick was sleeping. She never had the heart to send him home, so anxious was he to stay near his son in these first few weeks of his life, and so he spent more nights camped out in Carla's spare room than he did his mother's._

_Tiptoeing into the nursery, Carla spotted immediately the small figure in the cot and rushed as quietly as she could to him. Hanging over the side of the cot, she gazed down at Jesse, wrapped up snug, his eyes shut tight. Reaching down, she gently touched his cheek._

Carla shivered; the chill air of the early morning was seeping into the room, leaving a layer of frost over everything. Grabbing the soft and fluffy blanket in a shade of muted blue-grey that was hanging nearby, Carla gently draped it around Jesse's little body, tucking it in so that he was wrapped up nice and cosy.

"There we go, little man," she cooed. "We have to keep you nice and warm now, don't we?"

_The smile on Carla's face faded when she felt Jesse's cheek. This isn't real, she told herself, you're imagining things. But, even as she repeated these assurances to herself, she knew instinctively that they were a lie. She knew that the coldness she felt in Jesse's cheek was not a trick of her senses, not a strange phenomenon of her own fingers somehow transferring the cold to him. No, this was real._

_As her hand gently cupped his head, her thumb running lightly over his scalp, she felt again the same coldness. As she touched his tiny hands, still it lingered. She could not deny the truth any longer. Not when she felt his coldness, nor the stiffness as she lifted his arm, and not when the lamp that she quickly switched on bathed the cot with light and revealed the pale waxiness of his skin and the bluish tinge of his lips._

_What she would give to hear him cry again at this moment. Not one word would she utter in complaint about another sleepless night, if he would only cry. But it was not her son's cry that she heard, but an otherworldly cry, a scream of some poor creature being tortured, forced to suffer some terrible ordeal._

_Why won't it stop? Carla thought as she cowered a little, the sound was so terrifying, the abject wretchedness being unleashed into the world so raw. Until she realised that it was out of her own mouth that the scream was pouring forth, it was her own torment that was rending the peaceful night._

Carla did not hear the sounds around her, did not hear the people walking in and out of the room, did not hear their whispers, did not hear the sound of her own name being spoken to her. All she knew, or ever wanted to know, was the baby in her arms. Everything else was just white noise, a gentle hum in the background that she could ignore while she focused all of her energies on the most perfect person to have ever entered her life. While she held him, she reasoned, he would stay in her life forever, he would not leave. She couldn't bear it if he left.

"Carla."

The sound of the one voice that could break through to her, the only voice that she would recognise. But still she chose to ignore it.

"Carla, love," Peter said, sinking down to the floor of the nursery next to Carla where she sat, her back against the wall, her knees tucked into her chest, Jesse held close to her heart.

"Carla."

"Shhh," she shushed him softly. "You'll wake Jesse."

"Love–"

"Don't say it."

"I'm sorry, love, but I have to. You have to let them take him. They have to… do tests, find out why."

"I can't…" she sobbed. "I can't let him go. He'll be scared all alone in the dark and in the cold. He needs me. He needs his mummy."

"_Carla?" Nick stumbled into the nursery, his hair dishevelled from sleep, his hands fumbling with the tie of his robe. "What's –?"_

_Nick stared in horror as Carla picked Jesse up from his cot, the unnatural appearance of the infant immediately ripping his heart to shreds. He watched as Carla, silent now that the first terror was over and her instincts transformed into that of a protective mother, rocked Jesse in her arms as if she were merely soothing him back into a slumber from which he should wake in mere hours from now. But the stricken father knew that his son would never awaken from this sleep, a sleep so deep that it had no end._

Carla placed her son into the hands of a stranger and, leaning down, kissed his forehead softly and whispered, "Mummy loves you".

Even then, she could not let him go. She followed this strange man's footsteps as he carried her son out of the nursery, out of the building and out of her life to a fate unknown, his lifeless body to be poked and prodded until all of their questions were answered.

Carla didn't care about questions or answers, the whys and the wherefores of what had happened that night, the understanding of what had gone so terribly wrong. All she cared about was that her son had been taken away from her and she could never get him back.

"He's gone," she said, turning to face Peter who, having sworn not to leave her side for a moment, was there for her, would always be there for her.

And then, with no one left to remain strong for, no son left to hold onto, she collapsed into Peter's arms and cried more tears than she knew existed. Loss she had felt before, the loss of family, the loss of love, even the loss of hope for a while. But this loss was different, this was a loss of part of herself; a loss she felt in that moment she could never recover from. Indeed, she did not know if she wanted to.


	39. Week 39: Impact

**Week 39: Impact**

It was just one step; one step that changed everything. As Carla took that fateful step, she felt nothing. She felt nothing when that almost three thousand pounds of speeding metal made impact with her body, felt nothing as she was flung into the air and soared like a bird, so tantalisingly close to freedom, and nothing when she landed with a thud on the asphalt, her body lying crumpled in the middle of the road.

"Carla!" Peter cried out as he ran towards her, horrified by the sound of squealing tyres as the driver tried in vain to stop before impact.

But Carla did not hear him, did not even know that he was there. Just as she no longer felt pain, she knew no more of consciousness. For she had found that peace she had so desperately craved ever since that night her son had been so cruelly taken from her.

* * *

_That morning…_

Carla stared at herself in the mirror, scrutinising every aspect of her appearance in an effort to spot the difference. But to her eyes she looked the same as before. She was as well-groomed as ever, dressed in her trademark black, although today she wore it not as a fashion statement, but as a shroud. No, there were no physical differences; none, that is, until she turned to the side and, craning her neck, studied her profile.

There it was, the only physical sign remaining of the son she had lost. She placed her hand gently on her belly. It wasn't flat, not like before. There was still that small bump, that baby fat that lingered, a clear sign that he had once been there. But now he was gone.

"Carla?" Peter spoke hesitantly from where he stood hovering nervously at the door of the bedroom. "Are you ready?"

"Ready?" she asked incredulously, turning to face him and fixing upon him eyes that were filled with a silent plea for an understanding he could never attain. "I'll never be ready."

* * *

Carla dropped Peter's arm as they reached the front entrance of the imposing grey stone church, with its soaring arched windows and towering spire, and walked into the comforting arms of Nick, who was waiting there for her, Leanne as always by his side.

"You okay?" he mumbled into her hair, her only response a shake of her head and a stifled sob as she buried her face in his chest.

"Shall we go in, love?" Peter asked her gently as he placed his hand gently on her arm.

"No!" Carla snapped, pulling away from Nick and reverting to type by taking control of the situation. "I want to wait for him here."

"That's fine, whatever you want."

Peter backed away from the grieving parents, his hands in the air, anxious to cause no offence, not today.

"You go in," Carla urged him, more of a command than a suggestion. "You and Leanne go in. Me and Nick, we'll wait for him."

"Are you sure–?"

"Please, Peter," Carla pleaded with him, her tone wavering towards acerbity. "We're his mum and dad, we need to do this together."

"Of course. Lea?" Peter looked to his estranged wife, his eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.

"Yeah," Leanne nodded, glancing hesitantly at Carla, unsure if she should speak now or bite her tongue. Missing completely the subtle shake of Nick's head, she decided to speak. "Listen, Carla, I'm really sorry about–"

"I know." Carla abruptly cut her off and, turning her back on the other woman, instead chose to face the street, watching and waiting for her son to arrive.

"Lea, come on," Peter said. "Let's go inside."

"But–"

"For once in your life," Peter hissed at her, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door. "Do as you're told."

"I'm sorry," Nick apologised to Carla as Peter and Leanne disappeared inside the church. "About Leanne."

"It's okay," Carla shook her head. "I know she means well, I just… I can't right now."

"I know," Nick nodded.

"You'll explain to her?"

"Don't even worry about it."

"Thanks."

The pair fell into a sympathetic silence as they shared their vigil together, on the lookout for the hearse that was carrying the body of their little boy to appear. Instinctively, they clung to each other, more united in death than they ever had been in life.

"Oh god," Nick muttered as he caught sight of the anticipated and yet dreaded hearse as it turned the corner into the final approach to the church.

Carla was temporarily robbed of her ability to speak as the vehicle slowly approached them, able to offer no comfort to Nick except to grip his hand tightly and lean in a little closer to him.

As she watched, she caught sight of the flowers first. White lilies, a floral symbol of purity and innocence, or so the funeral director had explained to her. All she knew was that they were beautiful, just like Jesse. And then, as the spectacle of the flowers wore off, she saw that impossibly small box that lay underneath them, that tiny white coffin that held the body of her son.

At the sight of Jesse's eternal resting place and with a pathetic sob escaping her lips, her legs gave way from underneath her, Nick's grasp on her the only thing that stopped her from falling to the floor.

"It's okay," Nick whispered to her, his arms wrapped around her body, holding her up. "It's gonna be okay."

"It's not," Carla sobbed. "It'll never be okay."

"If you want to go home," he suggested. "You don't have to do this."

"I need to," Carla insisted, determined to stay strong, to see this day through to the end. "I need to do this, for him. For Jesse."

* * *

Carla didn't remember much of the service itself, it was all a blur to her, as they sang hymns and the vicar gave such words of comfort as could be possible under such circumstances. Carla had refused to speak publicly at the service; she did not trust herself to maintain any semblance of control if she were to open her mouth and speak what was in her heart. Brief snippets of Nick's words managed to enter her consciousness as he stood at the front of the church, his face ashen as he looked on that coffin that, tiny as it was, would not be denied attention. But little else affected her.

And then, before she knew it, she was standing on the front steps of the church again, blankly thanking her fellow mourners who offered their condolences as best they could, but who knew not what to say in the face of such a tragedy. There were no 'he lived a good life' assurances as might have been given for the bereavement of the elderly, nor any trite mumbled platitudes on those precious memories they could hold in their hearts forever.

There were simply not enough memories for Carla to hold onto.

One week was not enough time to gather memories that should have stretched across a lifetime. There hadn't been enough time to know him as a person, not enough time for his individual characteristics to embed themselves onto Carla's eternal memory. Already, she was beginning to forget the exact curves of his face, the way he would gaze up at her as she fed him, the sound of his cry, each cry with its own unique quality; the cry if he wanted to be changed, the cry if he wanted to be fed, or the cry if he just wanted her to hold him. Each of those precious memories were slowly slipping from her mind with every moment that passed. And she was powerless to stop them from leaving her alone with that gaping nothingness that threatened to consume her.

* * *

Carla peered into the vestibule of the church, searching for Peter's familiar figure. "Come on, Peter," she muttered impatiently under her breath, scanning the dimness within. "There you are."

Having spotted Peter deep in conversation with the vicar, Carla strode into the church, ignoring the looks of pity being cast her way by the stragglers in the congregation. She no longer cared about being nice or saving face, all she wanted was to leave.

"Peter," she spoke his name as she approached him, interrupting him without regret. "Can we go?"

"I won't be a minute, love."

"Peter, I want to go now."

"Why don't you have a seat," Peter suggested. "Have a rest while I–"

"For god's sake, stop fussing!" Carla snapped. "I don't want to sit down, I don't want to rest, I want to go home."

"Alright, love, if you'll give me –"

"Oh, do what you want, I'll be outside."

"I'm sorry," Peter apologised to the vicar. "She's very upset. Obviously."

"Please," the vicar waved away Peter's apology. "There's no need. To have suffered what she has suffered is unimaginable for most people. What is needed, what she needs right now, is your love, not your apologies."

"I don't know what to say to her," Peter confessed. "How can anything I say make it better?"

"What did I just tell you?"

"She needs my love?" Peter shrugged.

"Not your words."

"Just my love."

"So," the vicar said, motioning towards the door. "Why don't you go and give that to her?"

* * *

Carla stormed out of the church once more and, anxious to get completely away from the church, away from the place where her son was buried, made a beeline for the front gate and out onto the footpath that was bounded on one side by the church fence and on the other by the road.

And there she waited in near silence, the only sound a droning hum in Carla's ears from the cars speeding past, their drivers paying no heed to the woman in black who was stood there, completely still as if frozen, a living statue.

The thought entered Carla's mind, wholly unbidden and unexpected but, once it was there, it refused to leave. Not until it had whispered to her sweet promises to reunite her with Jesse, not before it had teased her with the seemingly unattainable chance to be with her son once more.

For Carla, it was not a conscious decision. It was only natural, was it not, that she would want to see Jesse again? And so, she did the only thing that, in that moment, made any sense. She stepped off the kerb and into oncoming traffic.

* * *

Darkness surrounded Carla; more than the darkness of her bedroom at night, more than the darkness on the street after all the lamps had been extinguished. This was a darkness that permeated every corner of her existence, a darkness that allowed no spark of light. No light and no life.

But even the darkest of nights eventually has a dawn. And so it was for Carla that she was called out of the darkness and into the light. And she was glad of it, because the darkness she had travelled into had held no comfort for her, there was no joyful reunion with her son. There was nothing, only darkness.

As her eyelids flickered, the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital room was at first blinding, overwhelming her senses, and searing her eyes so that she screwed them shut tight. These few movements from Carla were enough to rouse Peter from the almost trance-like state he had entered into as he had sat by her bedside, watching over her, praying for her to awaken.

"Carla?" he whispered softly to her. "Carla, can you hear me?"

"Eurghhhh…" Carla moaned, unable as yet to form complete words.

"Oh, god," Peter gasped, the relief in his voice palpable. "Thank god you're awake. I was… I don't know what I would've done if you…"

Carla tilted her head so that her cheek was resting against the soft squishiness of the pillow and her face was directed towards Peter. She looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes at the thought of losing her.

"I'm… sorry," she croaked in a barely audible voice.

"Don't," he shook his head. "Do you… do you remember? What happened?"

Carla nodded. It was the smallest of movements, but it was all the acknowledgement Peter needed to see. "Am I…?"

"You've had an operation," he explained to her. "There was some internal bleeding, but they managed to stop that. You've got a few broken ribs, a fair bit of bruising. I'd say you were very lucky."

"Yeah," she nodded, dropping her eyes to avoid his inquisitive gaze.

"Carla?" He spoke her name in a hoarse whisper. "I need to ask you something."

Carla slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze, unable to utter a word, her look the only encouragement she had the power to give him.

"Was it, umm…?" Peter stumbled over his words, not wanting to ask the question, fearful of the answer. But he needed to know. "Was it an accident?"

It seemed to the both of them that time stood still, the moment dragging out into what felt an eternity, until Carla found the courage to reply. That pause was enough for Peter, he knew the answer before Carla's lips formed the word that revealed to him the brutal truth.

"No."

"Right," Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh; he needed some time for Carla's revelation to sink in. "Do you still feel the same?"

"Depends," Carla shrugged. "The way I feel, it changes from one moment to the next. I don't…"

"What?"

"I don't want to… you know."

"Then don't," Peter pleaded with her. "I'll help you. I won't leave you, not for one second."

"Oh, Peter," Carla sighed. "Do you really think it's that easy? That if you just watch me 24/7 you'll stop me from doing something stupid? Again."

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Carla, what you're feeling, it's temporary. You won't always feel so… hopeless."

"Won't I? It doesn't feel temporary. I can't see a way through."

"Look, I'm not saying you'll forget about him, or that you'll ever get over losing him. I know you won't, not completely. But, I have to believe that things will get better. You just need to believe it too. And, once you get through this part, this dark part… When you get through it, you'll be glad you're alive."

"I don't think I can do it, Peter. I'm not strong enough."

"You don't have to be. I can be strong for you. When you want to cry, cry on my shoulder. When you want to scream at the world, scream at me, take it out on me, I can take it. I can get you through this, I will get you through this. What do you say? Hmm?"


	40. Week 40: Gift of God

**Week 40: Gift of God**

Footsteps echoed off the stone walls, the only sound that dared enter the solitude of the sanctuary, as the newcomer walked calmly down the aisle, bridging the distance between them with every passing second. Carla prayed that he would pretend not to see her, to pass her by and leave her in peace. She had not come to this place for conversation, nor had she come for the comfort he was so ready to give. No, she had come here because she could not let go and so she had come to the last place he had been with her.

Carla's prayers were not answered; the footsteps paused as he came level to where she was sitting, before turning and walking those few short steps and sinking down next to her on the old wooden pew.

And there they sat, two virtual strangers, side-by-side, facing the front of the otherwise empty church. He did not push her to speak, did not force a confession; he simply sat and waited on her.

It was Carla who finally broke the silence as she sought answers, even though she knew deep within her that no explanation could hope to bring any lasting consolation.

"Do you know what his name means?" Carla asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, uncharacteristically subdued by the ecclesiastical surroundings, as if she was somehow afraid to disturb the spirits and saints who stood vigilant in their eternal watch over the consecrated edifice. "Jesse?"

"No," the vicar replied, his voice soft and gentle. "Tell me."

"Gift of God," she said, her words accompanied by a snort of derision. "Not that I believe in God or owt, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he waved away her apologies, accustomed as he was to facing unbelievers. "You don't need to believe to seek out the truth. To want answers. I think I can guess what your question is."

"Why?" Carla turned to the vicar and fixed her eyes on his, a silent plea for understanding. "If my son was a gift from God, why did God take him away from me? Hmm? He was only a week old, he had his whole life in front of him. Why would God do that?"

"I don't know."

Laughter burst forth from Carla's lips at this unexpected answer, the harsh sound bouncing grotesquely about the nave, from wall to wall, and ceiling to floor.

"I know that's not the answer you want to hear," the vicar continued. "But, the truth is, I don't have all the answers. No one does. Not in this life at least."

Carla stared at the vicar, the slow-creeping horror of his words fully sinking in. "How am I meant to move on?" she cried, aghast at the realisation that she might never again know any peace. "How can I even start to move on knowing that such arbitrary cruelty is allowed to happen? That your God allows it to happen?"

"Faith," the vicar answered simply.

"Faith?"

"Have faith that this life is not the end of life, it is merely the beginning. And have faith that one day, the questions that our earthly minds cannot hope to comprehend, will one day be answered."

"But I told you, I don't have faith, I don't believe in God."

"And yet he still exists. Your lack of faith does not change that. And it does not mean that somewhere, in a place we cannot hope to imagine, he is not looking after your son."

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

* * *

Carla stepped over the threshold of the church, gasping the fresh air into her lungs in great gulps, a blessed relief after the closeness of the sanctuary. She had come here for truth, but her visit had raised even more questions that it had provided answers. For a moment, she stood on the front steps of the church, frozen in indecision, unsure of her next move.

She glanced across at the graveyard and, in the distance, spotted the freshly dug mounds of earth covering the bodies of those recently deceased, their passing so recent that they as yet had no headstone or memorial. She knew that was where Jesse lay and, even though she desperately wanted to be near him, she could not bring herself to walk to him. Her imagination of his present state was so vivid, the suffocating thought of his tiny body buried in the earth so real, that his grave physically repelled her.

Instead, she remained rooted to the spot outside the church as the bitter late Autumn wind whipped at her hair and chilled her to the bone. It was indeed a bitter wind, the kind of wind that sought out and found all the hidden places and exposed their weaknesses to the world. It was a wind of change, Carla thought. A wind that wouldn't be denied.

And then she knew exactly what she should do. Taking her phone from her bag, she placed a long overdue call to a familiar number.

"Hi," she breathed into the phone, her voice wavering with suppressed emotion as her call was answered. "I need you."

* * *

"_Carla?_" Peter spoke to Carla's message service. "_Where are you, love? I'm worried about you. You were gone before I got up this morning. Please call me or text me if you don't want to talk. I just need to know you're okay._"

Peter leaned back in the chair as he ended the call, his face twisted, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a grim line, an increasingly common sight in recent days as his worry for Carla's state of mind heightened. He wasn't kidding himself, of course she wasn't going to be her old self, not yet, not for a long time. But still he hoped and watched for any small sign that she was working through her grief. All he wanted to do was help her and yet it felt as if she was pulling away from him, away from the world, with every hour that passed.

Feeling useless sitting at his father's kitchen table, he rose to his feet and, shrugging on his thick woollen coat, stepped out onto the street where he was immediately confronted by a strong wind sweeping down the cobbles. Instinctively, he wrapped his coat that little bit tighter around his body and turned up the collar, a flimsy barrier against the biting wind.

With no clear direction in mind, he began to walk, trusting that his deep-seated need to find and rescue Carla would guide his steps.

A rhythmic banging sound as he walked past the factory drew his attention and, peering across the forecourt, he noticed that the front door of Underworld was banging against the doorframe, powered by the relentless wind.

"Carla," he muttered under his breath, knowing that the only person who would be in the factory on a weekend would be the woman he was searching for. With a slight spring in his step now, he hurried to the factory and, wrestling slightly with the banging door, opened it into the wind and entered the relative calm of the factory.

"Carla!" he called out her name, almost breaking into a jog as he made his way to the office where he knew Carla would be working industriously, using the factory as a crutch, a drug of sorts that would stop her thinking about and obsessing over Jesse. "Carla? Oh, you're not Carla."

"On the ball as ever," Michelle Connor drawled sarcastically as she looked up at Peter from where she was busy rummaging through the papers that had piled up on Carla's desk. "Good to see you, Peter."

"When did you get back?"

"Today."

"Are you here to see Carla?" Peter asked, looking about the office and beyond, through the windows and onto to the sewing floor, fully expecting Carla to appear at any second. "Where is she?"

"Carla's asked me to help her out with running the factory for a while," Michelle explained. "After everything she's been through."

"Right, well, I guess that's good," Peter shrugged. "It'll give her some time to… recover."

"She's not broken a leg or owt, Peter," Michelle snapped.

"I know."

"She's lost her baby."

"I do know that, Michelle," Peter said, the scowl on his face growing darker by the second. "I am the one that was here for her. Where were you? Gallivanting around the world, living it up on some fancy cruise liner, while your best mate was going through hell."

"I'm here now, that's all that matters."

"Where is she?" Peter demanded, his patience wearing thin.

"The thing is…"

"Michelle!?"

"She asked me to give you this."

Peter snatched from Michelle's hand the envelope that she held out for him and, ripping it open, pulled out the handwritten letter inside.

"When?" he asked tersely, looking up at Michelle, the moment he had finished reading Carla's letter.

"Peter, I don't–"

"When!?"

"Eight-thirty," she shrugged as Peter looked at his watch. "There's no point, Peter. You won't change her mind."

But Peter paid Michelle no heed; he was already at the factory door, his mind focused entirely on, what felt like to him, the life-or-death mission now laid out before him.

* * *

Peter's car screeched to a halt outside the departure hall. He leaped out of the driver's seat and abandoned the car where it was. He did not care that he would most likely get a parking ticket, or perhaps even get towed. That wasn't important. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment in time was making sure Carla did not board that plane.

Scanning the departures board for eight-thirty flights, he silently chastised himself for not getting from Michelle the destination that Carla was bound for. He would simply have to guess and hope for the best.

Following the signs towards his chosen gate, Peter jogged the wide corridors of the airport, keeping his eyes peeled for any glimpse of Carla inside one of the many shops and restaurants that flanked the thoroughfare. But it was not until he reached the gate that he saw her, sat on her own, her gaze fixed on the floor in front of her in a clear state of melancholy.

"Hey," he whispered, his quiet approach having gone unnoticed by her up until that very moment.

"Hey," she gasped with a mixture of shock and a strange kind of happiness as she raised her eyes to meet his.

For a moment, an awkward silence fell over them as they stared into each other's eyes. It was Peter who broke the impasse with a bitter and accusatory, "This is really how you're going to leave, is it? A few scribbled words on a scrap of paper and you're gone?"

"I'm sorry," Carla said, her eyes still fixed beseechingly on his. "I'm a complete coward, I know that. I just… I couldn't face another goodbye. I couldn't handle it."

"Then don't say goodbye," Peter implored her, his voice softening at the sight of her eyes suddenly glazed over with unshed tears. "Stay here, with me."

"I can't," Carla shook her head, a small sob escaping her lips.

"Where are you going?" Peter tried a different tack.

"L.A." Carla revealed. "Suzy said I can stay with her for a while."

"I don't understand, Carla. Why?"

"You know why, Peter. I can't be here right now. Everything reminds me of him. In the flat, at the factory, when I see Nick, you… It's all too much, I can't escape the memory of him. I need to be somewhere those memories aren't so raw, so painful."

"Alright, then," Peter tentatively agreed with her. "If you have to go, let me come with you."

"No, Peter," Carla shook her head adamantly. "Your place is here, with Simon. He needs you."

"What about you?" Peter asked, his desperation growing by the second. "Don't you need me?"

"It's not that I don't need you, or that I don't want you, because I do. I do so much, Peter. But, umm… I dunno how to explain it, but… right now I need myself more."

"Yourself?"

"I need to get _me_ back," Carla struggled to explain. "I need to find me again, the me that can somehow live without Jesse. If that person still exists. And I need to do that on my own. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Peter sniffed, his head shaking sadly from side-to-side. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"No, not really. But I'm trying. I know you wouldn't be doing this if you didn't feel you had to."

"I wouldn't, I'm not," Carla reassured him. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"It's fine. You go, do what you need and, when you get back, we can–"

"Peter," she cut him off abruptly. "I can't make any promises about the future."

"Oh," Peter murmured as the reality of Carla's words sunk in. "I see."

"I won't ask you to wait for me," she said. "That's not fair on you."

"I will wait," he insisted. "If you want me to, I'll wait forever."

"All I want, Peter, is for you to be happy. So, if you find happiness without me… you should grab onto it and don't ever let it go. Okay?"

"I…" Peter shook his head, unable, unwilling to agree.

"Promise me, Peter," Carla implored him. "Peter!"

"Okay, okay, I promise."

"Thank you," Carla sighed with relief, or resignation, she wasn't sure. "I'm gonna miss you, you know that?"

"Then don't go."

"Come here," she said, ignoring his final plea and instead reaching out and placing her hands one on either side of his face, her palms pressed gently against his cheeks, and kissed him softly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

"I love you too," he said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. "Never forget that because that will never change. That's one promise I can keep."

Carla forced herself to break free from Peter's embrace and calmly join her fellow passengers as they queued to board the plane. She refused to look back at him, fearful that her resolve would crumble and she would run back into his arms. Because, no matter how much this parting hurt, she knew she had to go.

She didn't know if this was the end or if this signalled a new beginning for her. All she did know was that she couldn't stay. No matter how much she loved Peter – and she did love him, with all of her heart – but love wasn't enough for her. Not right now, maybe not ever.

As she stepped through the automatic sliding doors and onto the jet bridge, she paused and turned back to face Peter, wanting one last look before she went. He was standing where she had left him, watching her, every move she made. Even from this distance, she could see the look in his eyes, those soft deep brown eyes that she adored; there was no mistaking the sadness that was emanating from them. It's for the best, she reminded herself, and hardened her heart for both of their sakes.

With the smallest flicker of a smile on her face, she briefly raised her hand in a final goodbye. And then she was gone.

* * *

_Don't worry, that's not really the end. Stay tuned for the Epilogue…out soon!_


	41. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

…_**6 months later…**_

Carla rested her temple against the cool glass of the car window and watched in a trance-like state as the streets, at once so familiar and yet at the same time completely alien to her, flew by in a blur. Her feelings on returning to this place, a place she would always consider home, were mixed; she had left here a broken woman, in desperate need of time and space to heal, to learn how to live again. And she had. While it was true that she would never again be the same Carla she used to be, that person was gone forever, she now felt strong enough to pick up the threads of her life that she had abandoned with such disinterest six months earlier.

She _had_ felt strong, that is, right up until that very moment when she was once more faced with those familiar sights, the settings for scenes of both joy and misery, places that filled her heart with an aching sorrow that would never fully fade away.

Carla attempted to approach her current dilemma as the pragmatic businesswoman that she was. She saw that she had two clear options: instruct the taxi driver to turn around and take her straight back to the airport, or to confront her fears head on. Running away again had its attractions, Carla did not deny that, but she was tired of living as a guest in somebody else's home, a bit-player in somebody else's life.

To Carla, there was only one real option.

"Excuse me," Carla caught the taxi driver's attention, her eyes fixed on his in the rear-view mirror. "I need to make a quick stop."

* * *

"I won't be long," Carla promised the driver. "I just need to…"

Carla couldn't quite vocalise what she needed to do, she wasn't sure herself. All she knew was that she needed to be here. To exorcise some demons, or to say the final goodbye she couldn't quite say before; either would come as a relief.

And so she took those first few tentative steps on the gravel walk that cut through the grass growing between the headstones that dotted the cemetery with some trepidation, the fear of how she might react, what physical or emotional scars would be re-opened, almost halting her progress. But she forced herself to continue, to place one foot in front of the other, right, left, right, left, right, left, until finally she arrived at Jesse's resting place.

In her absence, Carla had given Nick carte blanche to choose the headstone for their son. At the time, she'd had no desire or energy to care what shape, what stone, what text, what anything. What did it matter? she thought. He was gone and nothing would bring him back or make his absence any easier to bear. Still, she was pleased with the choices Nick had made. There were no superfluous decorative sentiments to be seen, simply a timeless and honest memorial.

Jesse Connor Tilsley  
24/10/2011 – 31/10/2011  
Beloved son of Nicholas Paul Tilsley and Carla Connor  
Forever in our hearts

"Hey, baby boy," she whispered as she gazed down at her son's headstone. "It's mama. I'm… I'm sorry I've been gone so long. I had to… I missed you. I miss you, every minute of every day. My baby…"

Kneeling down, she reached out and gently touched the flowers that had been lain carefully in front of the headstone. They were fresh, laid there in the last day, by Nick no doubt. Carla had brought nothing, she had come unprepared and empty-handed. For a moment, she felt useless, thoughtless, a bad mother, until she remembered what she had tucked away in her handbag.

Dumping the bag onto the ground and rummaging through its contents, she soon pulled out the teddy bear she had bought the day before she had left L.A. She had spotted it in the window of a store as she had hurried down the street, rushing to prepare for her return trip home, and she simply couldn't resist it. There was something about it, something almost human in its little face as it stared at her through the shop window.

"You look after my boy now, you hear me?" she whispered to the teddy bear before kissing it softly and placing it in front of the headstone, a spiritual guardian of sorts, a protector of this sacred ground and the soul that resided there.

* * *

Carla stared across the forecourt towards the place that was more familiar to her than home; the factory. Underworld. She knew Michelle would be in there at that very moment, along with all her workers, keeping her business afloat and, while she was eternally grateful, they were not her immediate priority.

As she turned her back on the factory, she heard her name called out in a very familiar voice.

"Carla!"

Carla looked up to see Nick jogging across the street to greet her and was soon enveloped in his arms, a welcome home gesture she drew great comfort from.

"It's good to see you," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"And you," he said as he pulled away from her and, with his hands placed gently on her shoulders, looked at her intently, studying her face for any signs of distress. "Are you…?"

"I'm doing fine," Carla nodded, flashing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "A lot better."

"So L.A. was…?"

"Helpful," Carla nodded. "Yeah, it was helpful."

"Good," Nick smiled at her awkwardly. "That's good. Did you, umm… Did you come straight here from the airport?"

"No, I stopped to, umm…" Carla's voice faltered. "I went to see him. His… grave. You did a good job, you know, picking the…"

"Headstone."

"Yeah," Carla croaked, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to suppress the sob that was fighting to escape. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Nick looked at her quizzically.

"For leaving it all to you, all the arrangements. That wasn't fair."

"Carla, really, you've got nothing to apologise for."

"Even so," Carla shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Nick reluctantly accepted her apology, fidgeting nervously as he worked up the courage to speak again. "There's, ahh… there's something I need to tell you."

"It's okay, Nick, I know about you and Leanne."

"You do?"

"Fancy flat in Victoria Court, engaged to be married. Really, Nick, I'm dead pleased for you."

"I, ahh…" Nick stammered.

"Hey, you can't fight destiny, right?"

"That's not… I mean, that's not our only news."

"Oh?"

"The thing is…" Nick sighed deeply before continuing. "I don't know how to say this."

"Just… spit it out please. You're starting to freak me out."

"Me and Leanne, we're having a baby."

For a moment, Carla didn't – or couldn't – speak; she merely stared at Nick.

"Carla?" he breathed her name. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, more so to convince herself than Nick. "That's, umm… congratulations."

"Thanks. Are you… I know that's probably hard for you to hear."

"Why?" Carla asked, her tone a little harsher than she had intended. "Life goes on. People don't stop living just because… Because someone dies."

"But–"

"Seriously, Nick, I'm happy for you. I really am. I don't begrudge you happiness. It's not like we were love's young dream or owt."

"Weren't we?"

"Nick, come on, you and me both know that we were only ever together because of Jesse."

"That doesn't mean I didn't love you."

"I know."

"I did love you, I do love you. Not in that way, but…"

"Nick, you don't need to explain, I feel the same."

"No matter what happens, no matter how many other children come into my life, you will always be my first-born son's mother."

"And you're his father."

* * *

The bell above the entrance tinkled its familiar tune as Carla opened the door and stepped inside the bookies shop to what was clearly a final rush for the regulars to put a bet on before the start of a race. Silently, Carla joined the end of the queue and waited patiently for her turn.

Before long, Peter's customers had all placed their bets and either left the shop to listen to the race in solitude or had remained inside, huddled around the large-screen television flanking almost an entire wall of the bookies, willing their chosen beast onto victory.

"Yes, mate," Peter said, still focused on stamping and filing away the previous customer's betting ticket. "What'll it be? Well?" Peter looked up with an air of exasperation when Carla did not immediately reply.

"Hi," she greeted him simply with a smile.

"Wha– what are you doing here?" He stammered, clearly shocked to see her. "Where have you been? I was worried."

"I was, you know, in the air, on a plane."

"But, you didn't–"

"I thought I'd surprise you," Carla explained. "You see, two days ago, I was sitting on the beach in Malibu, in a bikini, soaking up the sun, and it was… it was perfection, it really was. And then, suddenly, I don't know what happened, but I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That it was time to come home."

Walking out from behind the counter, Peter stood face-to-face with Carla, shaking his head as if still in disbelief that she was standing in front of him in the flesh and not just the fleeting and elusive vision that had filled his dreams, both waking and while asleep, for the past six months.

"You look," he smiled as he looked her up and down, studying every part of her, reacquainting himself with the sight of her. "Amazing."

"Thanks," she said, silently cursing herself as she felt the colour rise to her cheeks under Peter's intense gaze. "I feel amazing."

"Well, you look it," Peter laughed self-consciously. "I just said that, I'm sorry."

"This is ridiculous," Carla said with a chuckle.

"What is?"

"Us, standing here not knowing what to say to each other as if we haven't spent every night of the past six months talking on the phone."

"That's the thing though," Peter said, a cheeky grin colouring his face. "Seeing you in person, there's things I want to do that I just couldn't during those conversations."

"Oh, yeah. Like what?"

"For starters," Peter murmured. "I want to kiss you."

"Well then, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

Peter didn't wait a moment longer and, oblivious to the customers that remained in the store, most of whom were too busy with the horses speeding across the television screen to pay any heed to the reunion being played out in front of them, pulled Carla towards him, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, his hands gripping onto her, determined to never let her go again, and kissed her.

"Carla!"

Carla and Peter sprang apart as Simon rushed towards them and launched himself on Carla, squeezing her tight such was his excitement to see her.

"Hey, Si," Carla squeezed him back. "I've missed you."

"I'll leave you three to it, shall I?" Deirdre said from the still open door. "Welcome back, Carla."

"Thanks, Deirdre."

"Bye, grandma!" Simon hurriedly shouted his farewell before turning back to Carla. "Are you back for good?"

"I am," Carla nodded. "I'm back and I'm not going anywhere."

"Yay!" Simon celebrated before turning serious for his next question. "Are you dad's girlfriend again?"

"Umm…" Carla turns to Peter and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, am I?"

"Yes, son," Peter grinned at Simon, tousling his curls affectionately before glancing back at Carla, the happiness shining brightly in his soft brown eyes. "She is."

"Awesome!" Simon cried out in delight. "Hey, dad, can Carla come over for her tea? We can have fish fingers."

"What do ya say?" Peter asked Carla. "What's your stand on fish fingers?"

"Fish fingers?" Carla asked, winking at Simon mischievously. "I'm mad for fish fingers, me."

**THE END**


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